Botched Revenge
by heartless16
Summary: Richard is out for revenge and Arella is his target. But what if he catches the wrong person? And what strange secret does she seem to be hiding? Worst of all why does he seem to be falling in love with her?
1. Chapter 1

Land ho!"

Shouts of joy and the sound of running feet drew Richard from his musings with the map and compass. He placed his hat onto his unruly black hair and started for the deck.  
He had planned this day for years.

The busy port of Azarath finally came within his reach. Soon he would find that priestess and make her pay for all the heartache she caused.

"Well men, it is a good day for a raid."

He stood on deck and watched as his men celebrated a small smirk on his handsome rugged face.

Arella would pay for her crimes.

* * *

Raven stood and chanted the sacred prayers as she walked round the temple. A censer swung slowly from a delicate gold chain she held. As the high priest finished the incantations, the door to the alter grounds slammed and foot steps pounded on the cold marble floor. It was Asha, her apprentice. The dark haired teenager skidded to a stop and nearly tripped on her dress.

"What have I told you about bursting in during prayers?"

"Forgive me but there is unrest in the city. Pirates are raiding the city and are headed for the temple!"

Raven's eyebrow rose. "Interesting. Come with me."

The two hurriedly entered side room of the huge temple. There Raven began to hide several books in a section in the wall. "Mistress, you cannot hope to stay here when the pirates come and you certainly cannot leave wearing that."

A silence ensued as Raven and the young girl surveyed her clothing. A pale lavender halter-top adorned with jewels clung to Raven's curvy frame stopping just above her navel. The sides of the top then dipped down her sides past her navel to form a fringe-like skirt. A pair of low riding purple silk pants covered her legs beneath the fringe skirt and a pair of silk slippers adorned her feet.

"I have a cloak."

The girl shook her head vigorously. "No I have an idea." Stay here."

The young girl dashed out of the room and in a few minutes returned with an old servant's dress. "Here…just put it on top and wear your cloak."

Raven's lips turned down into a frown but she followed the girl's instructions. When she was appropriately dressed, she hid several knives and guns into her corset and the folds of the dress. At the young girl's appalled look, she stated bluntly. "My mother always said to be fore warned is to be fore armed. And I am fore-armed."

The two girls laughed. Raven then pleaded with the girl to be safe and not to get into trouble. After a solemn oath from the young apprentice, they each departed.

Raven had gone a little ways away from the temple before she was spotted and chased out of the city limits. She managed to escape a few of the pursuing men using only her skills with the several knives she stashed among her attire.

Then they began shooting…she had no choice but to return the favor.

Raven was not sure when it happened. Perhaps it was when she tossed her empty gun and grabbed another, or maybe it was when she shot and killed the one they called 'Ralph' but a knife was launched at her shoulder. The blade hit its target and she collapsed biting back the scream that bubbled up in her throat.

Through her pain induced haze she saw a pair of stunning jade eyes staring down at her in apprehension. "Dreadfully sorry Miss. Cap'n said to bring you back in one piece, you were being such a feisty little lass. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

Raven hissed at him. "Filthy Irish bastard."  


* * *

Garfield did not understand the stubborn pride of the Azartharians. The woman refused to let anyone touch her…let alone allow Roy to remove the knife imbedded in her shoulder. She just plodded on, her face blank and vacant; though we all knew, she was in excruciating pain. Why did Roy even throw the knife at her in the first place? They could have apprehended Arella without having a fight…or without even having to wound her.

The group halted in the road. Garfield marched over to see what the delay was. A little girl, no older that thirteen or fourteen, bared the way pleading to see 'the priestess'. He motioned for the men to let her see Arella.

Garfield watched as the girl clasped hands with Arella and said she would watch the temple. Arella nodded, slipped a gold bangle from her wrist and placed it in the girl's trembling hands.  
He watched as Arella continued to slip off her anklets, a pair of dangling earrings from the many that adorned her ears and a single gold necklace. The girl put them on as if in a shock.  
What happened next truly sickened him. In a single tug, Arella wrenched the dagger that was impaled in her shoulder and placed it against the girl's forehead.

Garfield felt nauseous, and yet he continued to watch in morbid fascination as the two continued the strange ritual.

She placed her bloody hand against the girl's pale cheek and neck. Then she softly murmured what sounded like a prayer. Finally, she released the girl and spoke in an ominous tone.

"Take this blade, set it against the four winds, and then wait for my sign."

Apparently, the girl understood and she took off as swiftly and as silently as she had come.

"Does is really take this long to apprehend a single woman or must I show you how it's done."

"Captain Richard! Everything has been done as you asked." Garfield reported motioning them to bring the captive forward.

Richard looked on with calculating eyes. "Didn't I say there was to be no blood shed?" His eyes looked scathingly at Garfield who only shook his head and pointed at Roy.  
Richard shook his head at the two with a small undetectable smirk...or so he thought.

The captive chuckled. "So the captain shows emotion…interesting."

Richard turned his attention to the young woman.

She stared defiantly back at him through her hooded cape, despite the gushing wound at her shoulder.

"Arella Roth. I have some business to finish with you."

The young woman sneered. "Business? Yet you send your men to hunt me like an animal? I will give or tell you nothing until you treat me with the respect I deserve."

The two locked eyes, his cold and glaring, while Raven's violet eyes glistened with mischief.

_ Purple eyes? How does one get purple eyes...or even purple hair for that matter... _"Very well then. Escort the Missus to the ship."

She removed her arms from their grasp. "Do not touch me…I am perfectly capable of walking on my own."

Raven elbowed past the crewmembers and despite the obvious drag of her shoulder started up the gangplank with dignity…that is until she stumbled. Garfield rushed to assist her but she shoved him aside and sat down cross-legged beside the main mast.

Richard eyed her with slight amusement. Such a great amount of pride in such a small woman.

The ship slowly set sail and Raven looked back at the temple and its spiraling dome. She sighed inwardly. It was only a matter of time-

"Arella Roth. Will you now be inclined to heed my requests? Or will we have to resort to torture?"

Raven looked up into Richard's cold blue eyes..."Wait…did you just call me Arella?" Raven threw back her head and began to laugh hysterically.

When she calmed down, she gazed up at him her eyes twinkling with mirth. "You flatter me, Captain."

She slumped to the floor unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

**I apologize to those who put this story on alert. To he honest, I had a really hard time writing this chapter so I let it take the back seat for a while.  
I also don't really consider this story to be popular, not that many people review...**

**I will probably write this story at a very slow pace...unless you readers want otherwise. If you think this should be a major story like my other two...let me know! I will gladly put more effort to it when my schedule allows.**

**Chapter 2**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own teen titans

* * *

Everything had changed so much. Where was the mast pole, the hard wooden floor, the cold biting chains and the endless open sky?

Gradually she was aware of hands touching her, tugging on the sleeve of her dress and letting out a cry of alarm she pulled her arm away wincing slightly at the pain. Raven quickly wiped her tears, swallowed her fear and turned to gaze into a pair of warm brown eyes.

"What are you doing to me?" It was a silly question and Raven knew it. This man was obviously the doctor on the ship and it showed. He was the only one who treated her with kindness and respect. She could not say the same for the rest of the crew. Raven hated the leering stares and the cruel remarks. No one treated her this way on Azarath...on the contrary, everyone adored her. As the High Priestess, they respected her, and as a citizen, they were kind. Each treated her like family...something that was unheard of when she grew up in England.

She wasn't looked upon as an object of desire either... on Azarath women were equals. Yes, this was very different...and not in a good way. Raven could only pray that these men kept their hands to themselves...lest the situation worsen.

"You lost a lot of blood Miss Roth. I didn't want to take the chance of having your wound get infected."

She nodded and moved closer to the huge man, allowing him to continue cleaning and bandaging her shoulder.

"I give you my thanks." She said with a slight smile. "What is your name?" The priestess figured it was in good interest to know the name of the only kind man on the ship...perhaps he could be of some use.

"Call me Victor."

"So who is the small boy by the door with green eyes and funny accent?"

Victor laughed. "That's Garfield…he'll be taking you to see the Captain."

She frowned slightly. "Do I have to?"  
Raven did not like the captain. He was arrogant and selfish, and he reminded the young woman of her teacher, one man who was determined to keep her from attending school along side the boys of the village. It seemed that in England, girls were expected to stay at home...something that her mother would not allow.

Arella was determined to give her daughter the education she deserved. She fought that man mercilessly... till Raven was allowed to attend. She excelled in the school and was allowed entry to a prestigious academy in Gotham, shortly before her mother passed away.

It seemed there were always men like Richard at all the schools she attended. They were rich, privileged and stupid, constantly belittling those who earnestly deserved the opportunities. And being a woman, Raven was probably bullied the most. Yes, she hated men like Richard.

He chuckled at the complaining tone. "Unfortunately, yes. But don't worry…he's not as mean as everyone makes him out to be."

_He better not be..._

* * *

Garfield's footsteps echoed loudly against the wooden floor, a stark contrast to Raven's silent feet.

He seemed calm and composed but his eyes betrayed him and his true emotions revealed themselves in his bright green eyes. Confusion, anger, sadness…the kind one only gets from being torn apart from someone they really cared about.

All these things Raven saw in the small boy's eyes and she wondered how he came to be part of the crew. He seemed not older that fourteen.

"Gar-field…did I say it right?"

"It'll do." There was too much emphasis on the 'e' but he didn't really speak perfect English either. "How may I help you?"

"I just want to know something. How old were you when you're parents died?"

He stopped suddenly and grabbed her arm. "Who told you my parents died?"

She gazed into his sorrowful eyes as if searching for an answer. "There was a plague…the whole village was wiped out, yes? Only the children survived?"

His normally healthy-looking skin took on a ghastly green color. "Who told you this!" He shook her mercilessly but she didn't respond. It looked like she was in a trance…Garfield sighed and dragged her to the Captain's quarters more confused than ever.

How could she have known any of that? Is it because she was a priestess and many of them are supposed to have spiritual powers? Or was this woman a different exception…not many people have violet eyes and hair.

He rapped on the door and bit his lip. Captain Richard was always in a bad mood…even if he wanted you in his office. There was never a smile on his face. Was it that hard to have some rum and lighten up?

As quietly as he could he dragged the unresponsive woman into the room and slowly backed out the room, pulling the door shut behind him and ignoring the pleading look in her freakish purple eyes.

* * *

Richard looked up briefly from his paper and smirked inwardly when he watched Garfield dragging the stubborn woman into his office. Something looked off about her but he decided not to dwell on the subject. He was just to find out what she knew and send her back.

He placed his pen down and looked at her critically.

She stood proudly with her hands clasped behind her back, looking him straight in the eye, her head cocked at an angle…as if she were daring him to try something. Her dress was worn and ripped at her injured shoulder and the sleeves were tattered.

Richard wondered vaguely why a priestess would be wearing something so meager even though it looked like she had worn it over on top of her usual priestly garb.

He noticed the thin strip of fabric that wound about her neck and the light purple that was visible through the threadbare dress and, with disdain, the silk trousers. The priestess' violet hair; once tied back into a braid was slowly coming undone, and the unruly locks that clung to her angular face, her ruby chakra and full pouting lips gave her a wild erotic look.

But what put him off the most was the small gold and pearl chain-bracelet that seemed imbedded into her hands and wrists. It seemed an impossible feat to accomplish and yet, that was how it was.

How was something like that done?

She reminded him strangely of Korianna, his fiancée even though the two were completely different. Korianna was a quiet, sweet young woman with long fiery red hair and stunning green eyes, an attribute to her mother's Irish roots. She was known to have quite a temper…to match her fiery locks some said.

This woman in front of him was mysterious and cautious with flashing eyes and a sharp tongue. Her attitude was full of disrespect and defiance; the complete opposite of Korianna's meek and humble disposition.

She needed to be taught a lesson.

"Miss Roth, you realize it is disrespectful to stare me down like that."

She sneered. "I am under no obligation to adhere to your chauvinist rules."

Richard noticed her strange English... It was nothing like the typical Azartharian accents he heard. This one was more...French? He couldn't tell for sure."Where did you learn English Miss Roth?"

"I am under no obligation to answer any of your questions. You wasted your time in capturing me, I suggest you send me back to my people."

This woman was becoming a pain… "You are aware that the sooner you tell me what I want to know the quicker you can go home."

Raven laughed, her dark violet eyes twinkling with a strange light. "No, that trick will not work on me. You have already made up your mind about whatever it is I did to offend you. You will have to return me of your own free will."

Richard stood up and slowly walked up to her, his ice blue eyes cold and menacing. Why was she not afraid of him? What was it about this woman that made her so...difficult and so...intriguing?

She took a step back. "Do not touch me." Her eyes glared at him in anger and disgust. There was no fear...he wanted to see fear in her eyes. Everyone else feared him...why couldn't she?

Richard said nothing and continued to advance, cornering her into the wall.

* * *

In Garfield's mind, it seemed like hours before the strange woman was finally let out of Richard's office.

In reality…only fifteen minutes had passed. Time drags when a person is young. After all, they are the ones with bright futures, it is the youth that will become better leaders in the impending times. But to Garfield, the future did not look too bright.

No one wants to apprentice a fourteen year old boy with no background or talent to speak of. He was lucky enough to have found Victor…and even though he didn't really take a shine to medicine and the apothecary business, the man still gave him a place to stay and food. In return he took on the responsibility for meager chores and tasks…such as swabbing the deck and waiting on the crabby cook.

Sighing, Garfield removed his thoughts from his less than interesting life. Maybe now that a captive was on board things would be looking up. Perhaps they could even become friends.

The door to Richard's office creaked open and Gar stumbled back in shock. He looked at the priestess and back at Richard. "What did you do?"

The bang of the closing door was his reply.

Swallowing his dread, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Well let's get you back on deck. Maybe Victor will bring you something to eat."

She ignored him and when the chains clamped around her ankles, he thought he saw an accusing look flash across her bizarre purple eyes.

_I guess I can scratch friends off the list._

* * *

Garfield sat cross-legged in front of the captive, glaring angrily into her startling violet eyes.

She glared back fiercely, though her eyes and face betrayed no emotion. The wind blew softly and tossed her waist length hair gently, scattering it across her stony face.

Suddenly a grin spread across her face and she spoke out in her heavily accented English, "You blinked."

Garfield slammed his palms on the floor in defeat. "I'll never be able to beat you."  
It had been several days since Richard 'had a conversation' with Miss Roth. He still didn't know what happened, what Richard had done to her or why there was a look of utter pain on the young woman's pale face.

Perhaps Richard did keep true to his word of 'whatever it takes'. Garfield couldn't believe he'd resort to torture. Even then, both of them refused to talk about what happened so he dropped the subject. Garfield thought it best to simply keep her company...though there were times when she probably didn't need anyone.

Miss Roth was silent for about three days, refusing to talk or eat. Finally, she spoke, only to inform him that 'this English gruel is revolting to look upon'. It was a welcome statement, for he felt the same way. Nevertheless, Garfield promised the young woman better food, in exchange for friendship.

The young woman found it rather astonishing, and she inquired as to why. The fourteen year old simply said, "I've never had a friend with purple hair and eyes."  
It was the beginning of what the two hoped would be a promising friendship...at least until Richard killed her...or died.

"Oui. Now about the knife and the wood you promised me?"

Sullenly he handed the items over and frowned when she exclaimed in astonishment. "Vous les gens vous l'appelez un couteau! How am I to carve with such a dull knife?"(1)

He shrugged. "It was the only one I could get you without the Cap'n finding out. No one will miss a table knife." The statement was partially true. Richard may not notice, but the crabby cook would. And Garfield would probably have so scour pots for several weeks to make up for it.

"Les gens si en arrière, tous les couteaux ne sont pas signifiés pour être pointus?" Raven mumbled to herself as she ran the knife across her wrist. (2)

"What was that?" Garfield looked at her suspiciously. It was odd to him, the way she spoke. It was French, that much he was certain, but the way she could switch between that and English simply puzzled him. It was as if her thoughts were scrambled, half in English and half in French. Miss Roth probably couldn't tell the difference...

She smiled brightly. "Nothing, observe as I transform this piece of wood into-"

"Ooh! Do a horse!" The young man was excited to say the least. Carving was a feat that he could never accomplish...he didn't have the patience, nor the steady hand required for the trade.

"A horse it is ma cherie."

Garfield watched transfixed as she deftly shaped the piece of wood, hands moving in a blur, her face blank with concentration, unaware of the small crowd that gathered to watch.

People walking back and forth from the deck seemed to pause on their way and watch quietly with interest…if only for a few minutes. Some of the daring crew members stopped what they were doing altogether and sat down beside Garfield watching with disbelief…not many women knew how to carve wood where they came from.

It was unheard of…and that's what made it so intriguing….that is until the familiar tap of Richard's shoe resonated against the wooden deck. There was a loud scuffle as everyone rushed back to their respective tasks.  
The noise went unnoticed to the captive priestess, who continued on whittling away at the soft dark wood. Even Garfield's surreptitious coughing couldn't drag her from the task.

"Miss Roth."

The spell was broken and the woman's steady hands faltered. An attractive frown made it's way on to her pale face and to everyone's surprise, she let out a string of curse words. "Look what you did…it's ruined!"

Garfield took the horse and looked it over. "No it's not, just carve a saddle."

She frowned. "Oui, I could do that."

In a flash it was finished and she held the completed piece. "Wa-la!"

Clapping ensued around the deck till Richard glared and pried the horse from her hands. She glared up at him, her exotic lips turned down in to an attractive pout. "That's not yours, its Garfield's. I could make you one if you give me some more wood?"

Richard shook his head. Her behavior was so random. For several days she was solemn and serious, refusing to talk at all when she was questioned. It was becoming a nuisance, especially since he had learned nothing from her since she was captured. But now she was unusually talkative and somewhat childish. This was quite unlike the typical mood swings that Korianna and her spirited but aloof friends often displayed.

This was a deeper, different change. It was as if her emotions were separate beings in her mind...and she could call them at will. But was that even possible? To be able to summon emotions and switch them off and on? How did that work?

Richard resisted the urge to groan. She was a puzzle... with missing pieces. And Richard hated having incomplete games.

"I did not bring you on this ship to carve toys for my crew."

"Then why am I here? Why won't you just tell me instead of holding me captive?" Her aggressive tone irked him.

"Where did you learn your English?" He didn't really mean to ask the question...but it was in his mind. _Can't take it back now..._

Raven raised an eyebrow. "Answer my question first."

"You seem to have much difficulty speaking English." That was an understatement. Her pronunciation was horrible to say the least, yet she spoke the language better than some of the foreign people in his crew.

She shrugged indifferently. "That's what happens when you learn three languages at once. Vos mots ne partent jamais le droit." (3)

"She's been doing that all day, Sir." Garfield mumbled in a bored tone.

Richard nodded absently. "Is there a language you would prefer to speak?"

Raven looked at him intently and began fingering a string of beads around her neck, her mouth moving silently.

"She does that a lot too, Sir." Garfield droned, sounding bored with all of her strange tricks.

"So, she's in a trance?" Her behavior was so odd, from the way her emotions seemed to change like the tides, her strange accent that no one could seem to place and now this. _What was wrong with her?_

"No. I think she's praying."

"Richard…you seem saddened. Did someone close to you die?" He shuddered at the voice. It was cryptic, and void of any emotion. But how could she have known? Was it because she was a priestess...or was there another reason.

As much as he'd like to deny... she intrigued him, probably to the point where it didn't matter how long she stayed his prisoner...Richard needed to solve the mystery.  
It was wrong, really. He promised himself that after he found Arella, he would bring her back...to stand trial for murder. However the judges needed a confession. They couldn't put her on trial because the case had been closed long ago. Unless she made a confession...Richard would never get justice.

So he promised himself that no matter what happened...he wouldn't resort to torture. Because torture was beneath him... he didn't believe in it. Richard couldn't believe how easily his beliefs were swayed. Arella was relentless in silence...nothing he did or said would sway her resolve.

So he threw justice to the wind...because now he had a new mission. To figure out this strange woman...no matter the consequence.

"Do not burden yourself with sadness anymore. His soul is at peace."

Richard's mouth went dry as he fought for control. He turned towards Garfield, his clear blue eyes boring relentlessly into his friend's skull. The young lad shook his head vehemently. He didn't say anything...which meant...

He clenched his hands into fists and retreated to his room before he could break his promise to Victor.

* * *

"Vic, I don't know if I can do this…she makes me so angry."

Victor was silent for a while, still busy patching the masts. The steady swaying of the boat and the swishing waves filled in the pondering silence. Finally, Victor spoke, his voice sounding almost like an accusation. "Can you blame her? Her life was perfect and then you take her away without a chance to even say goodbye. Of course she would be angry. I just hope you grabbed the right person."

Grabbed the right person? Just what did he mean by that? "What do you mean?" There was no way he went wrong in capturing her. After all the meticulous research that he went through, there couldn't have been a way he made a mistake.

_Could I ha__ve grabbed the wrong person? _

Although, this woman fit Arella's description …something about her didn't seem to add up. Deep down he felt that Victor was right. And this feeling annoyed him.

"Well, look at her…she's way too young to have done it…judging from her looks she had to have been fifteen when it happened." Victor did have a point...but it wasn't convincing.

"You know perfectly well that someone at the age of fifteen is perfectly capable of murder... you saw what happened with Wesley."

"Yes. I just can't see her doing anything bad. Be careful with her. I know she might not look it, but she is capable of causing a lot of damage."

Richard resisted the urge to scoff at this statement. At least the damage causing part. He just couldn't believe that someone so petite could cause anyone damage. Then again she did manage to shoot three of his men...and injure several others. Perhaps there was more to her than met the eye...either way Richard welcomed the challenge.

The captain nodded while staring at the wooden floor. "I'll be careful. I promise."

"One other thing. You are feeding her right?" The suspicion in Victor's voice caused him to jerk up in surprise.

"Yes. Why?"

Victor frowned. "No reason."

* * *

The ship was such a fascinating place to Raven. She always watched with awe the heights people climbed to make repairs to the sails or to fix fraying ropes. Garfield called them riggers. Raven had wondered why he was not a rigger…most of them had small builds like him.

But Garfield said he was afraid of heights and because of that, many of the other crew members ridiculed him. His job now was to swab the decks.

"If I asked you to climb this pole, could you Garfield?"

"No, could you?" He asked, marveling at the intense look in her eyes. He wondered if she could climb the pole. Where he came from...girls didn't do such things.

Raven scrutinized the beam she was shackled to, deep in thought. "Yes, I am pretty sure."

His green eyes glittered with surprise and mischief. She had to be bluffing. "Then climb…if you get as high as the chains allow…I'll sneak you more jerky and milk."

"Really mon ami? Because as I have said... this gruel you English people eat is rather disgusting. We have a deal." Raven slipped her slippers off and stood to her feet.

"Wow, you've got some pretty tiny feet Miss." Garfield exclaimed as he held her shoe.

She chuckled softly, his words reminding her of someone who once held a special place in her life. Raven wondered where he was now or if he even received her message. "They're not that small." With those words, Raven bunched the skirts of the servants garb, knotted them back, and slowly scrambled up the pillar; the heavy silver chains clinking loudly.

When she could go no further she released her arms and hung upside down from the pillar, swaying precariously. "How's this?"

"Miss, if you fall I'll never forgive myself. Come back down." There was a hint of fear in his voice as well as worry, something that amused the priestess. Did Garfield really think she was going to fall? She had climbed things much worse than this... Why should he be worried about her?

"Yes Miss Roth, I would advise you listen to your dear friend."

Inwardly Raven groaned. The captain was back. She really wished someone would remove the stick shoved up his ass. Why was he so uptight about everything? Why can't he just loosen up?  
She wondered if it had to do with the strange cloud that hovered on his shoulders.

Not literally, of course...it was something only she could observe. But whatever happened to him...in his mind she was to blame. And Raven hated being accused of things she knew she would never commit.

"Oh, hello Richard. Tell you what, if you remove this chain and let me climb to the top…I will answer any questions you have." The young woman knew she was pushing the line. He was already angry... and it wasn't going to take much for him to snap.

Richard scowled. "Get down NOW!"

She pouted but climbed down the pillar and took her shoes from Garfield. "You're such a curmudgeon. Why can't you loosen up?" Probably not a wise thing to say...but right now Raven could care less. It was time he learned a lesson.

Richard bristled. Why was she so defiant, so disrespectful and stubborn? And how dare she stand up to him and challenge his authority! He slapped her hard across the face, watching angrily as she stumbled back and stared at him in surprise.

Her hand flew to her face and she continued to glare, her features going from surprise to rage. "You can't tell me what to do, Richard!"

He slapped her again. "That's Captain Richard to you."

"You can't tell me what to say either, Richard." He wasn't expecting her to slap him back. This time it was Richard who stumbled back, eyes widened with surprise, and features contorting into a mask of rage.

Blinded with anger, he pinned her against the wooden pillar, his muscular arm crushing her slender throat. "I've had enough of your disrespectful attitude. You will tell me what I want to know."

Raven's eyes flashed. "I have done nothing, therefore I have nothing to say."

"You know damn well what you did."

"Then tell me what I did, you bastard! Tell me what I did to you!"

Richard slapped her again and she spit in his face.

He slammed her several times against the pillar. "Do not play innocent! You know what you did…"

A heavy hand clamped down on his stiff shoulder and pulled him away. "Richard, that's enough." Victor looked at him, his usually warm brown eyes now coated with disappointed.

Richard said nothing...because what was there to say? He broke his promise, and nothing he said was going to change that.

"Do not think because you have won this battle that I will give in." It was that empty emotionless voice...how did she do that? He turned and stared into her face, instantly wishing he hadn't.

Because there was a sadistic grin on her usually pretty face...one that haunted his very soul. "This war has just begun. Torture me all you like, I will say nothing... till I get the respect I deserve. But Richard, be warned. Revenge is subtle and patient. It bides it's time…just waiting."

She laughed, that frightening smile still etched in her face, blood dripping from her swollen lip. "I'm a very patient woman, Richard Grayson.

* * *

**Writing the last part was a little odd...I didn't want Raven to come off as angry...but more mystery and suspenseful.**

**Richard's character is a little complicated for me as well. I don't want him to come off as really mean, just desperate for information. ****He wants revenge...and if anyone watches Smallville they would know that 'revenge is like an obsession.'**

***This is the link for the bracelet….and when I say imbedded I mean it can't ever come out. ****Don't ask me where that idea came from but it is plausible….kinda like her chakra.**

/2010/02/types-of-indian-jewelries-part-7-bracelets/

**(1) French- what kind of knife is this**

**(2) French-such a backward people, are not all knives meant to be sharp?**

**(3) French -your words never come out right**

**Review!**

**~heartless16**


	3. Chapter 3

**Forgive me for the lateness. Summer was hectic and I was taking some hard classes. But here it is and I hope you all enjoy my work so far. **

**Disclaimer: Should be in chapter 1**

**Chapter 3**

Miserable.

It was the word of the day and with good reason. For three days straight the rain had been falling, drenching everyone in sight and causing a lull in activities. Since there was a steady wind blowing, the crew didn't really need to work much and instead spent their time below decks, drinking rum and playing cards. It was funny how the peaceful quiet made the priestess yearn for the bustling noise, which she once abhorred.

Purple eyes gazed up at the tall center mast that she was chained too. The beam was long and seemingly endless as it towered into the sky while holding up the pure white sails. _Pure white..._

Raven abhorred the color white. It was repulsive, it was irritating...the color of mourning and sorrow.* Quickly, Raven averted her eyes, staring instead at the chocolate brown wood floor. Rain fell steadily against the floor, giving it a glossy color. Gently, Raven pressed her hands to the cold floor, watching the water seep through her fingers.

Everything was so cold. This rain was cold, this floor was cold. She was cold. What kind of rain was this? This wasn't the type of rain that fell during storms, much to Raven's dismay. If the ship had been caught in the middle of a storm, everyone would be frantically trying to keep the ship from drifting off course...or sinking.

She preferred sinking. To sink to the bottom of this cold ocean would be bliss...Then at least she'd be free. Dead no doubt, but at least free. But what about Garfield, or Victor? She didn't want them to die...the crew as well. They were simply following orders.

The young woman curled up on the floor, ignoring the chill and the slowly falling rain. At least Garfield gave her a cloak. Otherwise she'd be freezing...and humiliated.

At times Raven wondered whether to tell Victor, he was a doctor and was probably used to this sort of thing. But it would no doubt be awkward...and Raven hated feeling embarrassed. Her lips turned down into a pout.

She never had to suffer like this before...Asha was always there to help and to perform all the rituals. Raven couldn't live without Asha...the two were bound for all eternity, and not because of their duties to the Temple and to Azar.

Asha was her familiar...a reincarnation if you will. There was nothing about Raven that Asha didn't know and the converse was also true. Another sigh escaped her lips as she curled further into the cloak. There were many times she cursed her monthly cycle. This was one of those times.

* * *

"Hey Victor, I wanted to ask you something." Garfield's spoke up, his concern probably not as hidden as he wanted.

"What can I do for you?" He sounded busy, Victor always did. He was the only person on the ship with medical training...and a license. Keeping track of everyone's health must be a challenging feat.

"I think Miss Roth is sick." Perhaps that came out a little desperate. She kept telling him that everything was fine, but he wasn't convinced. Why did she look so pale and tired? Miss Roth even refused to eat the food he'd stolen.  
That in itself was a warning sign...Miss Roth was the only woman he knew with a bottomless appetite. She never refused meat and could polish a bowl of rice in seconds. She even liked pea soup!

"What makes you say that, Garfield?" Victor didn't seem surprised...he didn't even seem like he cared. Wasn't this whole trip about bringing Arella Roth back to Gotham to stand trial? How could he accomplish that if she was dead? Wasn't it Victor's job to see for her well-being too?

"Well, she's refusing to eat...and she seems a little pale. Sometimes she complains of pain..." The young man' voice trailed off as a slight smile spread on Victor's face. What was so funny?

"What else did Miss Roth say?" The young teenager asked, growing annoyed with the small upturn on Victor's lips.

"Well...she told me not to worry, a-and she said something about a 'time of the month'. But sir, what does that mean? Why are you laughing...I don't really understand your amusement Victor..sir, wait...where are you going?" Scrambling, Garfield managed to tip over several chairs on his way out of the small medical room.

They'd have to be fixed later, Garfield mused as he rushed after the ship's doctor. Perhaps Victor had known she was sick all this time...but why didn't he do anything? Miss Roth could have been dying!

He stepped into the lightly falling rain, watching as the doctor bent down and spoke to his friend. It irked him to see the smile on his face as he chuckled lightly, as well as the sullen frown on Miss Roth's features.

Perhaps he'd made her angry? Striding up, Garfield knelt down and apologized. "I'm sorry I told him miss. It wasn't my place."

Purple eyes turned his way and he watched as she smiled brightly. "Why are you apologizing? You were just trying to help your friend, right? I am in no way angry with you."

"Garfield, help me get her below deck." Victor cut in, that knowing smirk still on his face.

The young deck hand bit back a grumble and complied, wondering if he'd ever be let in on this elusive secret.

* * *

Flickering lights... soft gentle swaying...the heavy scent of rum. It was all so nauseating. Ice blue eyes glared down at worn and well used maps. A compass sat off to the side, it's arrow swaying with every rock of the wooden ship.

Wooden ship...he didn't want this wooden ship anymore. Not when there were other, more advanced ship out there. A ship that could never rot, a ship that needed no sails and no masts. Yes, such a thing really existed.

Richard pursed his lips as he examined the map. To get such a ship would mean taking a detour...a detour that would go halfway around the world. The journey would be longer...and much of it would be through land.

His crew might not agree with the demands. Perhaps the best thing would be to pay them off when as soon as land was sighted. Whoever wanted to stay was welcome.

The same cold blue eyes stared at the low ceiling, taking in the scarce furnishings and the carelessly tossed clothing. _Clothing...clothing..._

Miss Roth hadn't been wearing her usual clothing for the past few days. That indecent lavender outfit she always wore, suddenly went missing. In it's place were Garfield's worn dark trousers and pale cotton shirt.

Truth be told, he was baffled, that day he entered the infirmary and saw her, sitting on a low stool with the wash bucket between her legs...she was washing clothes. In his mind, it was unsightly and disgraceful. Why would a high priestess do a job that was fit for servants?

Then again...they weren't on Azarath anymore. This was a ship, in the middle of the ocean. If she wanted anything done, it would have to be accomplished by her hands alone. After all, he didn't hire his crew to dote on a prisoner.

Richard didn't know how long he had been standing there, watching as Victor rolled bandages and took stock of the inventory, while Arella continued washing, her slender arms moving in a rhythmic pace, and the loose braid swinging slowly against her movement.

Richard was quiet the whole time as he watched her wringing the water from the dark purple fabric. The woman's pale fingers gripped the material, and he was struck by how pale and white she was...despite the hot tropical climate of her home. Most people on Azarath were dark and tanned with dark brown eyes and thick black hair. She was completely different. For one, her eyes were not brown, but purple...even her hair had a slight purple color.

Despite the oddity, Richard couldn't help but feel enchanted when she pushed back some stands of hair, finally revealing the soft slender contours of her face and neck. His ice blue eyes had traced her features carefully, taking in the gentle curving of her collar bone and smooth angled jawline. Why did she look so much like his fiancee? Why was she so similar to Korianna?

He remembered the sound of bare feet gently padding against the wooden floor in the quiet peaceful room when Arella Roth began to tiptoe towards the back, her hands unwinding and smoothing out the unsightly wrinkles. Richard's mouth had gone dry at the sight. Garfield's clothes were so tight on her...tight enough to perfectly outline every single curve of her body.

His ice blue devoured everything, from the buttons that strained against her ample bosom and the slender curving of her back and waist, to the rounded contours of her hips. They swayed softly as she walked...as if dancing to an inaudible sound.

Richard was drawn in...he was enthralled as she begun to dance, chanting softly in a strange language. Her voice was light and airy...almost childlike as she softly sang. Her body moved in a way that was graceful, sensuous and erotic...to this day he couldn't erase the sight from his mind.

Richard felt angry and disgusted with himself. He couldn't stop his mind from wandering, from imagining and from forgetting his fiancee. Why did that woman have such a hold over his mind? What kind of spell did she cast over him? Why was his mind filled with thoughts of her...only her and no one else? It was annoying, it was distracting and he couldn't captain this ship with a wandering mind!

Was he the only one to feel this way? Perhaps it would have been best to forget about bringing Arella Roth to justice. There was really no proof that she killed his father anyway. She was merely a witness...an unconfirmed bystander in the case. It would be better to leave her alone, instead of to spend his days chasing empty clues.

But even if this clue were to be a wild goose chase...Richard didn't think he could rest until he found out who killed Bruce Wayne. All other things...even his beloved Korianna could wait.

* * *

Dark, silent and brooding. This was the mood that had settled over the ancient mansion. Outside the cold winter air blew violently against the frosted window pane and the bare tree branches swayed in obedience. The wind was their master...they bowed to no one but the wind.

Inside the chilly, dimly lit library a fire crackled gently, casting ghostly shadows across the floor. Shelves of old, worn book lined the walls, and old dusty furniture cluttered the once grand room. Nestled gently beside the fire place was an old sofa...the only occupied piece of furniture in this dark empty room.

This young man with menacing dusky green eyes slouched in the old sofa, a pile of books and ancient articles resting beside him, while his eyes closed gently...he was in obvious need of sleep.

And sleep he did...at least until a gentle tapping filled the stagnant, quiet air. Green eyes opened slightly, glittering with confusion. Who could it be, tapping at the door so late in the night? The young man ignored it, besides it was only a visitor...nothing more. His eyes closed in sleep once again.

Tap, Tap, Tap. The sound filled his ears...rousing him from the sleep he craved. Who was this person that their message couldn't wait till the morning? Was it perhaps Wintergreen, his long-time friend? The young man shook his head, Wintergreen knows better than to disturb my sleep. His hands raked through dark tousled hair.

Tap, Tap, Tap. Again, the visitor knocking at his door. The young man stood, noting the curtains rustling with an eerie grace, while the slowly dying embers filled the library with frightening figures.

His steps were cautious and guarded, as the man made his way towards the door. Whoever it was...for them to come all this way to see him must mean that there was an issue of immediate concern. Yes, that's all there is to the matter. When he received the message or item, he could simply go back and sleep in peace.

Clearing his throat, he spoke, "Sir or Madam, forgive my lateness. I was sleeping when you came, I did not hear your knocking. Again, my apologies." He unlocked and swung open the door, only to stare into the darkness.

Was it all a dream? Could he have imagined that incessant tapping at his door? These questions swirled in his mind as he sat back down on the worn couch, picking back up and old book to read. He couldn't sleep now...not when someone or something was lurking around here.

He was deeply engrossed when he heard it...a gentle tapping at the window. Green eyes stared intensely, watching the swirling leaves and the swaying branches. It couldn't be the same visitor. No, it was merely the wind...nothing more. He averted his eyes and continued to read.

Tap, Tap, Tap. That incessant sound filled his ears, and in a rage the man darted over to the shutter and flung the window open. A gust of wind scattered papers and dust. The dying embers sparked and began to glow brightly. His mouth dropped in surprise when a raven stepped through the window and flew into the library, finally landing on an old bust that hung over the door.

"Such a strange bird, to walk with such grace." The man murmured as he eyed the creature. Why did it land there? Why did the bird have to choose that bust that hung over the door? The young man smiled. "Such a peculiar creature must have a name? Tell me your name, strange bird."

He could have sworn the bird said "Nevermore."

At this he began to laugh. This bird obviously belonged to someone...but who would name a bird Nevermore? Perhaps this was still a dream? Or maybe this was just a stray bird that would simply leave by tomorrow. "Yes, I'm sure that by tomorrow, you will have left me in peace. Is that it, strange bird?"

Again, he hear the bird utter, "Nevermore."

His green eyes eyed the strange creature, noting how still and poised the bird was as it perched lightly on the bust. This was no ordinary bird...it was special, the raven was supposed to mean something. It was a very familiar sign.

Why couldn't he remember what it meant? Green eyes stared intently at the bird as the young man searched his memories. Ravens...he saw many of them on his travels. He encountered them many times in England, where he often visited with his parents. Ravens were also very common in his home country...they were worshiped as harbingers of death and destruction.

The young man also remembered people that he encountered on his journeys. In England he had met a prominent man in Gotham City...however he was still a child and those memories were hazy. A gust of wind blew into the room, rustling papers once more and succeeding to fire up the embers yet again. The raven turned it's head ever so slightly, till he stared into a pair of beady red eyes.

He paled slightly. Raven...the little girl he met in a small village in France. He remembered her purple eyes, pale white skin and horrible English. The two were inseparable during the time that he was in the village. When Arella died, he was given the task of sending her back to Azarath...which he did with a heavy heart.

He hadn't wanted to leave her side...she meant everything to him. Raven was his other half...he made a promise to always be there whenever she was in trouble. For her to send this bird, her familiar, meant that something was terribly wrong. And he was a fool for not noticing this earlier. But berating himself was not going to solve anything...there was no use dwelling on his mistakes. Raven was in trouble...and as her soul-mate he couldn't neglect the cry for help.

Slade Wilson held out his arm and watched intently as the black bird settled precariously on his arm. Ignoring the sharp talons that dug into his flesh, he opened the door and stepped out into the black, empty hallway.

* * *

***To explain Raven's opinion about the color white, ****In many oriental countries, white is seen as a color of mourning. In places like Japan, a bride would wear white to symbolize her "death" in her family.**

**I would think that Azarath(at least from the short scenes in the teen titans TV show) would look like an oriental country...probably something similar to India or Thailand. (I don't know much about India or Thailand in terms of color symbolism but the view seemed like something Raven believe.)**

**This last section was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven." I thought it would be interesting to introduce Slade using a dark poem. What do you think?  
****This chapter was painfully short...but I hope it can tide you over. Again forgive me for the long wait, college tends to suck up any free time that I might have.**

**Was it confusing? I thought some parts were.**

**Please review!**

**~heartless16**


	4. Chapter 4

**So once again I find myself apologizing for the extreme lateness. Blame my classes. Anyway, I hope this chapter was a good one. Some parts seemed awkward and stiff, nothing I could do could flesh them out.**

**Please comment on Richard's behavior. I would like some feedback before continuing. In this fantasy universe I have created (think of it as a cross between Pirates of the Carribean and Avatar, The Last Airbender.) ****I want Richard to be aloof and rather ignorant of the cultural differences of people outside Europe, where Gotham is situated. **

**Because of his sheltered life...he finds Raven to be a very uncultured and despicable woman. He (naturally) hates the way she dresses and finds her to be very immodest and shameless. Her actions also baffle and confuse him, which makes him unsure of how to act around her. Please tell me if I am going about this in the right way.**

**I apologize ahead of time for the odd first scene you will encounter. :D**

**Chapter 4**

**Disclaimer: Look in Chapter 1**

* * *

Crickets chirped loudly in the shrouded darkening forest. The leaves blew with a steady but ominous gait.

He listened to the rustling, his eyes half lidded as if he was in a trance. The steady clopping of the horse's hooves seemed to dance to a tune...it was an orchestra, this wilderness.

The chirping crickets filled the woodwind section, while the gentle and graceful leaves replaced the strings. Yes, and the hooves of the horses commanded the brass and percussion. It was a beautiful sound. Everything complimented each other...they were perfect together.

The man continued on, refusing to let his horse canter across the empty cobbled streets. If the horse moved any faster, the orchestra would fall to pieces. Patience...just a little more patience, and the music will come to an end. The steady hands of the young traveler guided his steed around the corner, a regretful sigh escaping his lips as they neared the light of the small in by the pier.

He had ridden for days, without stopping. His reason? Raven was in trouble and he didn't want to waste any time. His horse, unfortunately, wasn't of the same sentiment. Dark blue eyes, stared intently as he led the horse into a stall and began the arduous task of cooling the horse down.

He worked deftly and swiftly, his mind on several different things...the strange raven being one of them. Somewhere down this long stretch to the pier-side inn, he noticed his left shoulder began to feel light and somehow not complete. Perhaps the bird simply grew tired of being in one spot. He really couldn't blame the creature.

His task complete, the young man flexed his shoulders tiredly and then walked down the path to secure a room for the night, and to collect his thoughts. There had been no plan in his mind the night he set out with the strange bird.

He simply just...left. Was this what one called 'blind faith'? The ability to simply trust and believe, to pour your entire being, your whole existence into one simple thing? The ability to lose thought, reason and will? Was that faith? Or was it helplessness? Slade was sure that he didn't want any of it. And yet here he was, staring in front of a strange fireplace, in an unfamiliar city, simply waiting for divine intervention to come.

Divine intervention rarely came when you wanted it to. So why was he doing this? Why did he insist of staying here, why was he waiting for a sign? Had he really become so weak? How could he save Raven when he couldn't even think properly?

The blazing fire roared back at him, it's dancing sprites, casting ghoulish figures across the walls. Slade listened quietly, filling his ears with the angry and vengeful sound. What anger! What wrath!

Slade closed his eyes, letting the whooshing of the fire and the singeing heat fill his senses. His mind drifted, and he began to recall memories of his past. In his mind, the snow coated streets of his icy home-town wafted up to greeted him, and with it, the biting winter chill. The frozen icy streets, the white, snow covered meadows and the towering, frosty spires that rose into the never-ending bleak sky.

Such white! Such blandness...is it any wonder that it's people were so unsatisfied? Is it any wonder that the frigid Lastonian knew nothing of kindness, of love and charity? How could they, when the providential sun had pronounced its final judgement so far back in time?

The long endless winters and the short fleeting summers. He remembered it well...remembered how the frost of the streets turned to muddy slush, and the icy meadows displayed their scant greenery. For a few days, the light warmed the people's hearts, and thawed the hearts of stone. Alas, how cruel is the sun to those that are unworthy! Those summers were short-lived, and as it had for centuries, the sun departed, casting it's chilling displeasure on them once more.

The sound of chattering teeth roused the young man from his musings. Ah, twas his own jaws that clacked horridly; the man let out a bitter laugh. Would he continue to be haunted by this biting cold forever?

It is said that the inhabitants of the frozen North descended from the sun goddess. Then why were they neglected so? Why did the sun so mistreat their descendants? Why did the unforgiving sun cast its neglectful rays upon the country, as if in retaliation for a past grievance?

Ah, the proud country of Lastonia, and it's haughty, heartless citizens! What magic could chill the icy heart of a Lastonian? Let the sun rain down curses upon them, let its people suffer in the never-ending chill of the North. Let the sun turn away from its worshipers, and let them beg for mercy!

Yes, Slade must suffer. Twas fate...his unchanging fate as a Lastonian. And so he sat, huddling close to the raging fire, but unable to feel its warmth. Ah, how the mighty are fallen!

* * *

The crew would be approaching land soon and many of them would go their separate ways. Captain Richard didn't want to tie the men down with his arduous mission to send Arella back to Gotham. So he gave them a choice.

As soon as they docked the ship on the shores of Armenia, those who wanted to leave could do so...he had no need for the ship anymore. He told himself this as he settled down in his bunk for the night, sipping rum and pouring over countless maps. The Armenian forests were rumored to be impassable...and the trails were known only to the inhabitants of the small peninsula.

This wasn't going to stop him from achieving his goal...this was what Arella was for. Very few were graced with the knowledge that the people of Azarath and the people of Armenia were in fact, of one ethnicity. The languages and cultures were practically identical with only slight differences in religious practices. While those on Azarath prayed and made obeisance to the goddess Azar, the inhabitants of Armenia worshiped the sun goddess Amaterasu.

These differences did not stop the two countries from being on the friendliest of terms however. By having Arella, the high priestess, in their 'care' the people should be more than willing to aiding them.

Richard took another swig of rum and grimaced at the odd aftertaste. What he wouldn't give for a glass of Charlot champagne. The smooth, rich, savory taste was ten times better than the crude and bitter taste of poorly made rum. Richard supposed that the taste for rum was an acquired one, something that perhaps was picked up after years at sea, rather than on a whim in a tavern. A bottle of whiskey would probably taste better than this...and Richard hated whiskey.

A sigh escaped the man's lips as he turned over the map and began writing notes on the sides. For reasons unknown, he began to worry...and while he always worried about the safety and well being of his crew, to his astonishment, Arella was at the top of that list.

But for what reason? Was it because he had confined her to the brig, a place where he knew he couldn't see her... a place where he knew his crew wouldn't be tempted by her lewd dressing and shameless behavior? Wasn't it for the best that she remain down there? Garfield was feeding her and keeping company. He had also set Peterson to guard the place at all times. He trusted Peterson...he wouldn't do anything to her.

At least down in the brig...he wouldn't be tempted by her body anymore. Then he could concentrate...and run the ship properly. He wouldn't feel guilty about anything anymore...and when he finally was reunited with Korianna, there would be no regrets and second thoughts.

The candles flickered softly as the boat rocked back and forth. For some, the swaying of the boat was a nauseating and arduous thing to bear. To Richard, it was yet another reminder of the man whose life was so cruelly taken away. Why did Bruce have to die? Why did Arella kill him? What was Bruce hiding that caused the woman to sneak into the house in the dead of night...and ruthlessly murder him in that room?

Yes, he could still remember. He clearly remembered he strange scuffle from the other room, the way his bare feet sounded as the padded down the empty, dark hallway. The moon was full that night, casting eerie shadows against the corridors. Small pockets of light streamed through the old stained glass windows painting the carpets in a glistening red color.

Or so he thought.

He remembered how heavy that door was, and the frightening shadows that lurked inside. Richard could never forget that woman's eyes... those sorrowful bluish eyes.

Yes, bluish.

Not the strange amethyst color that the woman now possessed. But everything else was the same...the pale chiseled features, the slender petite body and the strange symbols ornately carved in Arella's jewelry. Richard couldn't forget the symbols on that glistening obsidian knife. Nor could he forget the strange sight of that burning red 'S.'

Richard was later told that the knife bore the mark of an ancient sect. One that worshiped something called Scath. Whatever this Scath was...only Arella knew the secret. She alone could explain why Bruce was targeted and killed. She alone must stand trial for his murder.

The candle flickered and sputtered out.

Richard cursed under his breath. Candles were becoming a nuisance to him. Too easy to go out and too hard to find. No one knew the hassle Richard went through to secure enough candles for this journey. The supply was running low but by some stroke of luck, the Armenian shore was only a few days away. He could wash his hands of the whole thing by then.

Yes, he would bid farewell to the crew and travel with Victor and Garfield...those two he knew wouldn't leave him. Garfield really didn't have anyplace to go...and as for Victor, seeing as they both lived in Gotham, traveling together would be the best option.

A tired yawn escaped Richard's clenched mouth and he would have retired for the night, had he not heard the sound of running feet outside his room. Who would be dashing around this time of the night? The skies were clear and the seas calm...

Richard frowned as that someone began to pound at his door frantically. Should he ignore it? No, it could be serious. But why so late at night? The captain swung the door open and balked in surprise as a flurry of purple and white dashed across the room and into the dark corner.

"A-Arella, why are you not in the brig?" Richard questioned, sounding as if he was speaking to a disobedient child. He continued to glare, listening to the sound of her heavy breathing and wondering why her cheeks seemed so red and rosy...or was that blood?

Richard pursed his lips and roughly dragged her out of the dark corner. Lighting the candle once again, the captain stared sullenly taking note of the woman's dust covered hair and bloody gash on her right cheek. "What happened to you?"

The woman said nothing and continued to stare blankly at the half open door her arms securely wrapped around herself. Was she trying to anger him further? How dare she come into his quarters in the middle of the night and ignore him! Richard's eyebrows furrowed in anger as he pulled her from the floor and pinned her against the wall. "Answer me, damn it!"

In the faint candle light, Richard could see the tattered torn shirt that Garfield had given her and the darkening bruises around her neck and shoulder. Fingers stretched forward without consent, gently examining the gash on her cheek. "Who did this?" Who indeed. Wasn't Peterson supposed to be guarding the brig? How could he let this happen?

The woman stared down at her blood stained hands and replied in a strangely tiny voice. "Peterson was drunk. He wouldn't leave me alone...now my best knife is ruined."

It was only then that Richard saw the blood on her hands. Quickly he released the priestess and stepped back, turning towards the door and peering out. Sure enough there was Peterson, sprawled outside the door with a dull table knife embedded in his shoulder. He was alive...but no doubt unconscious from the blood loss and alcohol.

How much had he drank? The man really reeked! The captain said nothing as he bandaged the man and left him outside the door. It wasn't a serious wound...though it probably would hurt like hell for a while. But wasn't that what alcohol was for, to relieve the pain?

Sighing heavily, Richard turned back to Arella, who was now staring fervently into the small piece of glass he used to shave with. Really, she comes into this place in the dead of night and now rummages through his things? Did this woman have no manners?

"I never gave you permission to touch anything." Richard snatched the glass from the woman's hands. "Why are you even here? Peterson's no longer awake, so there's nothing to fear."

Amethyst eyes flickered with a strange light. "That place scares me...Peterson scares me. I don't want to stay there anymore. Let me stay with Victor."

A snort. "Why should I comply with such a request. Are you not a prisoner? Since when does the prisoner make demands?"

Her face spread into a wicked grin. In the dying candle light, Richard could see the glint of a knife and his ice blue eyes widened in shock. Surely she wouldn't kill herself...it would an absurd way to die, wouldn't it?

"My life is in my hands. Give me what I want or my secrets die with me." Violet eyes glittered with seriousness and the shiny knife continued it's path across her slender pale neck.

Was she really willing to die? Just because he wouldn't give in? What kind of resolve was this? "Why? Why are you so willing to die?" Confusion was plain in his voice.

Those odd colored eyes stared at him fiercely. "Have you ever tasted bondage? Have you ever felt the cold biting chains of slavery? Or course not...if you had there would be no need for such a question. My answer is simple. You took my freedom...what else have I to live for? Give me what I want or let me die in peace!"

A stagnant pause permeated the room. Finally Richard spoke. "Fine, you can return to the deck...but staying with Victor is out of the question." The knife slowly lowered. In the dim candle light he watched as she tucked it back beneath the strips of cloth that wove intricately around her chest.

Her violet eyes flickered in relief and the man watched as she shakily sank to the floor, the last of her bravado dissipating. A pang of guilt resounded in Richard's chest. That helpless look just didn't suit her. She was supposed to be proud, haughty and arrogant. Arella wasn't supposed to look so...womanly.

Yes, it was such a horrible thing to say. But Richard had not met any woman who was as outspoken and as daring as she was. It confused and baffled him...to the point that he really didn't know how to act around her. Was he supposed to be the perfect gentleman...the one to hold her hand and keep her from danger?

Was he supposed to shower her with expensive gifts and clothes, to pamper and spoil the woman like he did with Korianna? Was he supposed to treat her like a fragile piece of glass? But Arella didn't want to be treated that way...she abhorred such things.

Even now...after all she had gone through, would she still let him clean her wounds? Would she let him comfort and spoil her, or would she push him away in the name of freedom and equality.

Richard summoned up the last of his courage and helped the woman to her feet, dried her tears and ushered her to his bunk before leaving the room, a bottle of rum in his hand. Maybe he'd sleep in the brig tonight. At least Peterson'll keep him company.

* * *

The air was hot, sticky and nauseating the morning Richard docked the ship on the quiet shores of Armenia. The pier was unusually quiet, and only the fishermen occupied the numerous piers as they returned with their catches of fish. Soon people would begin to flock and gather, looking to bargain and haggle. Armenia was known for it's seafood delicacies, one being their famous steamed squid.

Perhaps they would be able to get a taste of this famous squid, Garfield thought with interest while boxing up medical supplies for Victor. Seafood was something that the fourteen year old didn't really have a craving for...and he wondered if it would be as salty as the brine cod his mother used to stew for hours.

Maybe Miss Roth knew about the famous squid dish. Since Armenia was really close to Azarath...the tastes in food shouldn't be too different. From what he had seen in the slowly filling docks, the styles in dressing were almost identical.

The women wore the sheer bright colored robes and shawls, while the men dressed in the white tunics and turbans...of course jewelry abounded. There wasn't a single person without some kind of jewelry. It made Garfield wonder if Arella was sad about the loss of her jewelry as well...he didn't miss the sore and bleeding feet the day Captain Richard called her into his office.

Somehow... the captain had pried the small golden chains out from between her flesh. Miss Roth never complained of the pain either. Did those trinkets and bracelets mean anything to the priestess...perhaps they were symbols of her power and status? What if by taking them, Richard was making a grave mistake?

The young deck hand stood and stretched, noticing that the neatly folded priestly garments resting in the corner had disappeared. But when? Who could have gotten past his fool-proof defenses and taken the outfit?

Richard had forbidden her to wear the outfit on the ship after the week of gloomy rain. He mentioned something about 'see-through' and a 'distracted crew.' Wasn't that absurd? None of the deck hands paid any attention to Miss Roth anyway! But what did he know...seeing as he was the 'baby of the group.'

Garfield thought the whole thing was really weird. Didn't she wear that priestess outfit all the time in Azarath? How come no one found problems with it then? Why was Richard so bent on 'covering her up'? Was it really a horrible thing to flaunt a bare stomach and curves? Wasn't that the same as the Gotham City prostitutes? Perhaps Richard despised the clothes because of that resemblance?

The young teenager shrugged his shoulders. It didn't really matter anymore. He would soon leave this ship, and get his hands on that famous squid. It was for that delicacy alone that Garfield refused breakfast. No longer would he have to deal with hardened biscuits, grits and teeth jarring jerky.

**oOoOo**

Raven heart fluttered in anticipation as her covered feet finally touched the cold damp sands of Armenia. This was not her birthplace, yet the land called to her. She could feel the energy flowing through her fingertips...never in her life had she felt so alive before. A peal of laughter escaped the priestess lips.

Like an eager, hyper child, Raven slipped free of Richard's iron grasp and began to twirl and dance, her feet elegantly kicking up clouds of dust. Faster and faster Raven twirled, ignoring the stares and looks of confusion. She didn't care. How could she?

After being trapped on that disgusting ship, with those vulgar and depraved men for almost a month who wouldn't find the vast openness of land to be intoxicating? This happiness shouldn't be bottled inside. She refused to hide these feelings any longer.

So she smiled, sang and laughed...and watched in satisfaction as the weather responded to her emotions. Her feet moved gracefully and the sand beneath her small feet danced in response. The wind rustled her hair and clothes, tousling her hair and ruffling the colored fringe that dangled from her top.

The wind smiled down on her...the sun cast it's gentle rays on her pale skin. Such happiness...such perfection!

"Miss Roth! Miss Roth!"

The energetic priestess turned and watched Garfield run up holding something in his hand. Raven tilted her head, purple eyes glittering with curiosity and mirth. What was he holding so tightly? She watched him nervously step up, hands cupped in reverence. At least, Raven thought it was reverence. Perhaps he was nervous? Of course the man didn't understand the implications of what he had just done.

Raven stared at him, her eyes impassive and expectant. She continued to stare, to look down at this young boy with a suppressed curiosity as he quietly and nervously clasped the chains onto her ankles. Her lithe, willowy body had finally stilled, like a butterfly who had perched for some nectar.

In the silent breeze, that ruffled both hair and clothing, Garfield's tangy scent wafted up her nose. He smelled of sunshine, of earth and herbs. This was not the scent she craved. Raven sighed inwardly. No, Raven wanted the smell of snow, the taste of winter and the feel of ice within her grasp.

The feel of cold metal sliding between her fingers jolted the priestess back into reality. This was Armenia...snow did not fall here. Ice was uncommon. And there was no word for winter in the language of her people.

"Miss Roth, if I may," the boy paused as if waiting for her to reach his dimension once more , "I made some shoes for you...what with your injury and all." Head bowed slightly, he thrust the shoes out before her, seemingly ready to receive disappointment. "I hope you'll accept them!"

"Garfield, you made these...for me?" Raven's eyes watered. In his hand were the most beautiful pair of moccasins she had ever seen. Where did he find the leather to make them? And were those really her pearl foot bracelets?

The ones that Richard had pried out of her skin in a rage? At the time, Raven was sure he would remove the ones on her hands and wrists...but it seemed that he wanted to remain inconspicuous. So when he noticed those in her feet...well, he decided it would be better for him to inflict pain without causing trouble.

The young teenager removed the small velvet shoes and slipped on the soft padded moccasins. Raven could not resist drawing the boy up and kissing him tenderly on the cheek. She smiled at the innocent flush that covered his face, and linking her arm through his the two began to skip once more.

He for joy, and her for a new friend.

**OoOoOo**

The country of Armenia was filled with many trees, thought the young deck hand as he followed his new friend down the shaded dust road. There was green everywhere, from the grassy banks of the roads to the tall towering spruces and strange looking palms and the beautiful flowers that lined the roads. Armenia was a beautiful country, filled with life and excitement.

And the food?

Divine! Garfield had never tasted anything like it. The fried squid had tasted beyond that of what he expected. He also tried the curried potatoes, a spicy broth with goat meat and managed to eat four mangoes.

The mangoes were hand picked by Arella, who had been so daring as to climb into the tallest mango tree and pluck several ripe, sweet mangoes, three of which she ate, rather childishly.

Richard had been amused at this behavior, and actually laughed heartily at the sight of the priestess with sticky mango juice smeared on her face and hands. It seemed that everyone was happy here. He wouldn't mind staying here for the rest of his life. With the warm temperate climate, the lush green, fertile lands and the exquisite, delectable food, paradise would be ensured.

Too bad happiness never lasts.

Garfield realized this as he followed the soft steady footsteps of Arella in the dust. She had been skipping, yet her steps seemed engraved within the sand. The grass that she had danced over, seemed bowed in reverence and the leaves seemed to sway in obeisance. The gentle rays of the sun seemed to swathe around her, bathing and soaking her with love.

As she skipped and twirled, Garfield couldn't help but feel jealous at the favor the sun cast on this priestess. She was frolicking in the light, while he was left to follow in the shadows. How could the sun shine so brightly through the trees for one person, but hide itself at another? What powers did this small woman possess, to cause the sun to cast a blind eye to all?

The young deck hand looked up and realized with a jolt that Arella had disappeared. Where could she have gone? What would Richard do to him when he finds out that she's gone? The teenager's feet sloughed through the grass, following the moccasin prints through the trees and and shruberey. In his ears the distant sound of rushing water loomed closer.

The gentle sloshing of the water against the rocks filled his ears, and the weird scent of lemongrass entered his nostrils. The green eyes of the teenager peered through the trees, curiosity overwhelming his mind. Why did Arella go this way? He saw her clothes, lying neatly atop a boulder, away from the rich dark earth and the cold, ice-blue water. The woman's jewelry was there as well, glinting in the sun atop her silk lavender clothes. But the priestess, was gone.

Green eyes slowly moved towards the small bubbling brook and fixated themselves there, waiting for any sign of the woman. He probably shouldn't be doing this...but the burning intensity of his curiosity needed to be satiated. In the quiet serenity of the forest, Garfield waited; the sound of the gentle breeze, the far-away chirping of birds and the cajoling brook, his only companions.

And then he saw her.

Garfield watched with stunned eyes as the priestess rose quickly to the surface, breaking the gentle stride of the small creek. He continued to stare, captivated by the cascade of water that sloped gently down her petite back. The water seemed to have no end as it slid down her pale back and rejoined the brook once more.

He saw her lift her hands rapidly; the young teenager fell back in fright, astonished as the water quickly leaped up, spiraling into the cloudless sky before returning in a gentle downpour. Could this woman command the waters too?

Garfield bit his lip, watching as the woman slowly pulled herself up against a rock that jutted out from the icy brook. The gentle sun seemed to follow the woman as it's rays now kissed the rock's surface where the woman now resided. Garfield's cheeks burned with a strange embarrassment.

Arella was beautiful...so beautiful. It seemed like this realization hit him with a sense of shame. He shouldn't be here, watching her like a voyeur...silently lusting after her body. Yet, he simply couldn't turn away...he couldn't avert his eyes.

He couldn't burn the image from his mind, the beautiful priestess sprawled atop the rock like a water nymph. The pale, wet, glistening skin, the dark, long ,water-soaked hair and the gentle sloping of her bosom. The way she tilted her neck, exposing her small, slender throat, and the sight of her flawless legs. The gentle fingers that quietly played with her soaked hair and the round curving of her buttocks.

Garfield licked his lips unconsciously, watching as she shifted, giving him a view of her back. A pale color washed over him and his hands trembeled with a frightful realization. Burned into her innocent pale skin was_ that_ mark.

The mark of Scath.

* * *

**Has anyone ever tasted goat meat? Tell me in a review! **

**Lastonia, I don't believe such a country exists in real life. Look up the anime Glass Mask, if you want to know more about that country.**

**Armenia, however is a real country and it's located in Eastern Europe. The Armenia in my story, will be more of a tropical peninsula, probably similar to Florida or Puerto Rico.**

** I have decided that Raven needs some powers of her own...even if their not the ones you see on the Teen titans show. Has anyone noticed how the weather seems to reflect her mood? Would that be a really cool ability to explore? **

**And lastly, should Trigon make an appearance? In my mind, Trigon is to Raven as Slade is to Robin. They are like Oreos and milk, peanut butter and jelly...that sort of thing. What do you think? **

**Please review!**

**~heartless16**


	5. Chapter 5

**Well, the next chapter is finally here. Once again I ask forgiveness...this semester has been rough.**

**Hopefully, I can post the next one soon. I'm starting to think that shorter chapters are better than the long ones...in terms of posting at a reasonable pace.**

**Disclaimer: Look at Chapter 1**

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Green eyes flickered with fright, dry, parched lips opened and closed silently, slender pale fingers shook violently.

The mark of Scath...that mark that appeared in the heavens two years before the plague devastated his village. The constellation that shouldn't have been there. The symbol that only brings death and destruction.

Why was it now on this innocent, pure priestess? How could such an evil mark, taint Arella's pure white skin? What wicked denizen would dare to corrupt the holy priestess in such a way?

The young deckhand's feet carried him towards the cold, rushing water, as if possessed. His whole body trembled, teeth chattered violently as the teen stepped into the cold rushing brook. His shaking hands trembled, and fingers reached out desperately.

All his mind, heart, soul and body fixated on that horrible scar. Closer and closer he came, each step sending wave of pain through his small slender body. Skin burned, despite the chilling waters; sweat-soaked hair clung to his face, disregarding the cool evening breeze. The teen's chest rose and fell rapidly, tears blurred his vision, throat was hoarse and dry.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Garfield reached out his icy fingers, resting them softly against the priestess' marred skin. Why was she so cold? Her skin chilled his already numb fingers and the pain coursed through him once more.

Who would do this? Who would dare harm such an innocent creature? Tears dripped down the boy's frightened features as his hands continued tracing the deep rough brand.

A gentle laugh entered the boy's ears.

Green eyes shot up, noticing the sun peek out once more from behind the clouds. The cool wind changed to warm summer air, the icy waters became a warm current. That tinkling mirthful laugh...like the sound of playful bells, filled him with a strange happiness.

"Wilson, stop. That tickles!"

The voice of the priestess filled him with shock. He stumbled back, feet tripping over the rocks below.

"Wil-" Arella turned, her eyes bright and expectant. A childlike smile graced her features and Garfield felt his heart flutter wildly.

But who was Wilson? It seemed like someone the priestess was good friends with. Why else would her eyes grow dim after seeing him? Why else would the smile drop from her face, and the muscles in her jaw clench with irritation? Why else would she appear so...sad and dejected?

"For-forgive me, Miss."

Those strange purple eyes regarded him curiously. Then a smile spread on her face once more. "I am not angry at you, young one. Simply... reminiscent."

"Ah...um. Who is Wilson?" Should he ask? Did he even have the right? Garfield didn't want to pry into the priestess life, and she seemed like one who kept many secrets.

"Wilson." The priestess eyes grew sorrowful, and for a moment it seemed like the sun ducked behind the clouds. Shadows filled the empty lawn and the birds grew silent. "Wilson is... someone I love very much."

Garfield sucked in a shaky breath. _Is_. So she still loved him? Green eyes looked down into the creek, watching the minnows dart between the rocks and moss. Somehow...that '_is'_ filled his heart with despair. He felt sad, cheated and wronged.

Of course Arella wouldn't have such feelings for him...weren't the two simply friends? He was the one having strange thoughts, wishing for things that couldn't happen. "Where is he?"

A strange, almost defiant look flashed across the priestess' features. The woman turned up her nose with an air of superiority, pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. "Why must you know? Did Richard ask you to do this? "

An alarmed look entered Garfield's eyes. She thought he was a spy! "Never!" He didn't ask me to do anything! I came with you 'cause...we- well ...we're friends!"

"Friends? Am I really a friend to you?" Arella seemed confused and perplexed.

"Yes! Friends have to stick together...no matter what anyone says!" Garfield said this emphatically, hoping that the woman would get his message. His green eyes stared hard into her strange purple ones, hoping that she would see the determination and the resolve in his face.

Imagine his surprise when tears began to spill from the priestess eyes.

"You don't know what that means...to me. Thank you."

**oOoOo**

Annoyed.

Richard was extremely annoyed. And with good reason. The whole trip was now a day behind schedule...simply because Garfield wanted to 'let Arella bathe'. Since when does bathing take a whole day? What else were those two doing, to have held up the whole group?

Ice blue eyes stared piercingly across the campfire where the young deckhand was seated on the ground, intently picking out the fish bones Arella's meal. As if she couldn't do it herself.

Richard scoffed inwardly, cramming a piece of bread into his mouth. If they had made it to town, he wouldn't be sitting here, eating fish and bread, with nothing but spring water to wash it down. Ice blue orbs continued glaring at the two responsible for his predicament.

His ears picked up their voices; Garfield's excited and expectant, Arella's calm and serene. Her purple eyes glittered in the firelight, as her hands swayed gracefully. What was she saying? The captain strained his ears, trying to pick up the conversation.

"I do not understand how a ship hand such has you has never heard of Lastonia. The Land of Snow? The Ice Nation? Surely you've heard of the towering ice castles? Or the Reflection Wall?"

Lastonia? Richard pursed his lips. That god forsaken country? Why would anyone _want_ to know of such a barren place? Nothing good came out of Lastonia. Its people were arrogant and heartless, caring nothing of the world outside their icy haven.

The country was known for it's highly organized involvement in crime, exceptional mercenaries and thieves. Why such a country was even allowed to remain on this earth was a mystery to Richard.

"Garfield, you must take a trip there one day. When spring comes to Lastonia, everyone rejoices. There are festivals, parades, good food. When the ground thaws, the lush meadows spring out from beneath the ice, and the whole town begins to float upon the waters!"

"Really! That's just awesome!" Garfield exclaimed, looking up from the plate of fish. "But what about the people? Are they friendly?"

Arella paused, a distant look filling her violet eyes. "The people...are proud, they look up to their traditions. And they are very... beautiful. With eyes the color of rare jewels, hair as white as the snow itself...and voices as beautiful as a thousand instruments." The priestess paused, now staring into the fire, softly. She wrapped her arms around her body tightly, as if struggling to stay warm.

A tired smile graced her beautiful features as she continued her description. "It is said that the people of Lastonia are descended from the sun god. One day, I will find my way back to Lastonia, and search for that which I had lost."

Garfield's eyes took on a puzzled look, as did Richard, who tilted his head in confusion. Lost? What did she loose? A suspicious look entered into the captain's ice blue eyes as he pondered the priestess words. Why was she saying this? What made her speak of Lastonia?

Richard pursed his lips thoughtfully, watching as Garfield wrapped a blanket around the priestess' slender frame. Was she cold? Why? It was so warm on this island...not to mention the blazing fire.

He continued watching the pair, eyebrows furrowing even more as Garfield placed a blanket close to the fire and tenderly tucked the woman to bed. What was it with those two?

A strange emotion filled his heart. Richard stared into the fire, not fully understanding what he was feeling.

It was strange, this sensation of anger and frustration. Richard felt wronged and cheated. Arella was never like this with him. Never so bubbly, warm, talkative. Never so Korianna-like. He'd never seen her like this...laughing, smiling with eyes that twinkled so beautifully.

Arella was...beautiful. Yes, he had to admit the truth. Had to admit that her face was stunningly beautiful. Her strange violet eyes were painfully beautiful. Her slender frame that curved so erotically...the pale creamy flesh, those long legs and full, ruby-red lips were forbiddingly beautiful.

Richard bit back a moan of anguish. Why was he feeling like this? As if his world was collapsing. As if he couldn't breathe. These feelings, this sensation...it was killing him. Tearing him apart. The man closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain welling up within him. His breaths were ragged, hands clenched tightly.

When Arella smiled, it was to Garfield...not him. When Arella laughed, it was with Garfield...not him. She held hands with Garfield, not with him...

Damn it!

Why was he so jealous?

**oOoOo**

Violet eyes stared into the fire, watching in fascination as the colors flickered before her. Red into orange. Orange into yellow. The fire was slowly dying down, most of the yellow had disappeared. All that was left was the slowly dissipating orange, and the steady glow of red.

Raven stared into the red flame, her lips set in a frown. How could she have been so careless? What would happen now that Garfield had seen it? Would he say anything? Could she trust him with such a secret?

The young woman cursed inwardly, turning beneath the worn old blanket. She never asked for such a scar. Never wanted to be the daughter of Trigon. It wasn't her wish to carry his emblem forever.

Azar, what kind of life was this?

A life of servitude and slavery...who would wish this fate on anyone? To be fated to destroy the world, to be forced to pay for a crime she didn't commit? To be subjected to such degradation and insult by these brutish men from the north?

Crimes...was her mother guilty of that which Richard grieved for? Arella would never murder anyone. Obviously, Richard misunderstood something. Saw the wrong thing...jumped to conclusions. The fire crackled, sending a flurry of embers into the night sky. Raven watched as they fluttered down, the glow of red now fading into the night.

Arella never killed Bruce Wayne.

No, Bruce Wayne died because of something else. Someone else. That man died in the name of Trigon. Why else would Arella have been present that night? He knew something...and Trigon had to silence him.

But what? What could that man have known that would warrant his death? Did Richard know it as well? Or was he simply acting on vengeance, as if such a mission would bring his dead father back.

Raven pursed her lips, her hands and fingers weaving a sign. The priestess continued with her hand motions, as she quietly chanted a sacred mantra. She needed some answers, perhaps a clue.

Anything to prove her innocence.

* * *

**Well, how's this chapter. Is the story suspenseful? Is the story line clear? Did I bring trigon's involvement into the story in a good way?**

**Please review...and tell me other ways to make Richard jealous. (His jealously will be crucial as you can see.)**

**~heartless16**


	6. Chapter 6

**Once again, I find myself apologizing for chronic lateness. ****How is this chapter? Please tell me what you think about Raven's powers. I figured, instead of 'dark magic' she could be able to control all the elements. **

**Have you noticed how the weather changes with her mood? **

**Disclaimer: Should be in Chapter 1**

**Chapter 6**

* * *

"Captain, are you sure that this is the only way to enter the Northern Kingdom? Do you know how long it would take to walk to the border of Armenia?"

Richard sighed. "Yes, it's the only way. The closest sea port in the Norther Kingdom has been blockaded due to another inter-tribal war. Entering the country from Armenia is safer. We won't be bothered with road checks or military raids."

The group had been walking for several hours, taking the lesser traveled route to the capital city. The captain decided it would be easier to obtain goods and horses from the capital, instead of the smaller lesser known towns. Although it was a longer route, it did allow for some relaxation, especially to take in the beautiful scenery.

Richard was awed by the tall, swaying palm trees, exotic, peculiar-looking bushes and shrubs, as well as the strangely delicious-but-poisonous looking berries. The sun was not too hot, nor was the humidity unbearable. The wind blew softly through the trees, sending a welcome cooling draft to the weary travelers.

Armenia was a country with very enviable weather, Richard thought with a fleeting sense of jealously.

There was no winter, according to Arella. What would it be like to live here forever? To live in a perpetual season of spring? To dance in the sunshine all year, to be blessed with bountiful harvests, and merciful rains? Such peaceable dwellings accurately explained with great detail, the pacifist beliefs of Aremia and its sister country, Azarath.

An excited shout echoed across the forest road. Richard turned sharply, ice blue eyes taking in the priestess and Garfield chasing a small goat across the dusty path. A rare grin spread on his face.

Arella was so...

"Childish, isn't she?" The doctor's deep baritone drew Richard from his musings.

"Yes. Unnaturally so...at least for a high priestess."

Victor pursed his lips. A look of doubt etched on his face. "Richard, are you certain she is Arella? I just don't think it's possible. Bruce died three years ago, right? But that girl doesn't even look eighteen! The numbers just don't add up!"

A slight breeze ruffled the captain's jet black hair. He sighed, Victor's question eliciting a flood of doubts in his mind. "If she is, so be it. If she's not, then we can still question her. As the high priestess, she's got to know something about Arella, right?"

"I guess. But what? Why would a high priestess know anything about your father, let alone the circumstances surrounding his death?"

Richard shrugged, his ice blue eyes silently appraising the frolicking young woman. "Somehow, they look alike. The same pale skin, dark purple-black hair. Everything I saw that night...I see in her. Everything but the eyes..." His voice trailed off into the wind, and the captain sped up his pace, wondering why there was such a commotion up ahead. Richard tensed his shoulders as he felt the air suddenly shifted temperature, blowing from a moderate warm gust, to a cool crisp breeze.

Was the weather in Armenia supposed to change this much?

Ice blue eyes narrowed as he came upon the crowd, and took in the plain clothed elderly woman, kneeling at the feet of the priestess. A strange feeling came over him as he took in this sight, wasn't this the girl who was prancing and frolicking not long ago? Richard gazed at her straight posture, marveling at the seriousness of it all.

"Priestess, my wish is but to serve you." The old woman intoned, her eyes down cast as she clutched at a basket teeming with bread, cheese and numerous vegetables.

"It is my wish to reside at your dwelling this night. I also wish that this goat be served in celebration of my peaceful visit." Arella spoke, her voice cool and commanding.

"Priestess, your feet!" The woman reached out, her wrinkled hands gently brushing the dirt from the priestess's moccasins. Slowly the elderly woman unclasped the chains decorating the moccasins, tears slowly slipping down crinkled cheeks. "Priestess, I misunderstand this sight. Surely, your explanations are sound...that they are not the fearful thoughts of an old woman."

"Rest assured, grandmother. My explanations are indeed sound. You may put your fears to rest." Arella paused, a strange sorrow filling her voice. "It is my earnest plea that you perform this rite for me. I wish...to be whole once more."

**oOoOo**

Garfield coughed as he frantically reached for a piece of bread. His mouth burned, his nose burned. What kind of food was this? Why was it so damn spicy? The young deck hand glanced around, wondering if he was the only one having trouble eating the spicy food called 'curry'. His green eyes landed on Richard and he stifled a laugh. So he wasn't the only one. "Miss, why must the curry be so hot?" He questioned the priestess, who was sitting beside him, polishing off a third bowl with rice.

A grin spread on her face. "The curry is not hot for those who are accustomed to such things. Look at Harper. He has no problem eating it. Do you, Roy?" The young woman's voice changed to a sultry suggestive tone.

The teenage boy raised his eyebrow, did the two know each other? What was with that tone? His jade green eyes stared curiously as the red haired man raised his porcelain cup in acknowledgment, a strange look of desire, teeming behind his cobalt blue eyes. Garfield shivered at the man's salacious smile, and grew confused as the priestess began to laugh, an odd amusement coloring her voice. Why would she laugh? Was this some sort of secret joke? Jade green eyes stared into the half-empty ceramic bowl of rice and curry.

Arella was a strange person. A peculiar woman, with moods that changed like the tides, secret water-controlling powers and the uncanny ability to read minds. Was she a priestess? Do priestesses typically have powers, the ability to control water? Are priestesses supposed to have insight into the mind? Maybe, this woman was more than a priestess?

Maybe she was a goddess, sent down to live amongst the people, like the myths always describe? Or perhaps an evil spirit, wandering among the humans spreading mischief for her delight and amusement?

Scrambling to his feet, the teenager followed after the priestess, mimicking her graceful bow to the elderly woman. Eyes were wide with curiosity as the two women stepped into a small room and disappeared behind a chestnut colored divider. Garfield noticed the candles, the small tub filled with water, flowers called 'baby's breath' and a single pink aster. What were they for? Lips pursed in interest as the old woman slipped out from the divider and quietly arranged many jewels and trinkets along the edge of the tub.

On closer inspection, all these jewels were what the priestess had been wearing! The teen stared at the small jade stone that had been set in the woman's nose, as well as the bright sapphire toe rings, the dangling golden hoop earrings and the long streaming gold clips that decorated her hair. So much jewelry... What did they all mean? The sound of approaching footsteps drew Garfield out of hie musings. He turned and stared into the cobalt blue eyes of Roy Harper, the last man he really wanted to see. The teen bit his lip and stared at the weapons expert with a wary expression. What was he doing here?

"Come, Gar let me show you something."

Tentatively, Garfield stepped up beside Roy and raised an eyebrow, waiting to hear what the man had to say. It was hard to trust Roy. Especially after what he saw earlier.

"See these earrings?" Roy pointed at a small pair of gold studs. "Every girl receives earrings like this at their first birthday."

"Really?" The young ship-hand stared in fascination and wonder. So Arella has worn these since childhood? "What about those ones?" He asked, pointing to two ornately carved silver bracelets and anklets.

"Silver is very valuable in Azarath and it's usually given at a coming-of-age ceremony. In Arella's case, hers are decorated with charms and spells, showing her status as a priestess."

Garfield blinked. Coming of age ceremony? What was that all about? "Um, and this?" This time, he pointed at a golden ring inlaid with sparkling rubies and a small diamond. It looked very expensive, and he wondered if someone should even be wearing it so openly.

Roy coughed nervously. "This, is an engagement ring, actually. They're rare in Azarath, though. Not many people have them."

A gasp escaped the boy's lips. "E-engagement? Arella's engaged?" Jade eyes now gleamed with confusion astonishment and strangely enough, pain.

"Yes. You've seen the bracelets on her hands and feet. Those were done as part of a binding ceremony. On Azarath, both the bride and groom participate in this binding ceremony."

Garfield stared at Roy in awe. How did he know so much about these customs? Perhaps there was more to the weapons expert than met the eye. A frown scrunched the teenager's pale lips. Could the man be one of those well traveled people? The kind that simply took adventures for the thrill?

The sound of rustling silk drew the deckhand from his musings and he looked up, eyes drawn immediately to the priestess dressed in a thin flowing white robe with gold lining the hems. Garfield watched, transfixed as the elderly woman directed the young priestess to a low stool, sat her down and slowly begin to weave the small white baby-breath flowers into long purple-ish black hair.

He listened to the old woman chant softly, a bewitching musical quality that captivated the green eyed teenager. The boy couldn't help but sway softly, as if dancing to an invisible tune. He could hear the rise and fall of the very tonal language, it's oddly stressed vowels confusing and delighting his ears.

"Mr. Harper, this binding ceremony...why is it done?"

Roy furrowed his eyebrows, a strange thoughtfulness etched on his handsome face. "I believe it started about a hundred years ago, during the Great War. The kingdom of the South waged war against the North...and Azarath and Armenia were caught in the crossfire. Many people were kidnapped and forced to fight for a war they didn't believe in. This ritual was started as a means of identification...so when the war finally ended, the bodies could be brought back and buried properly."

Garfield's eyes were wide with wonder. "This hundred year war...it ended not too long ago, right? Like twenty or so years ago?"

Roy nodded. "Yes. The records and data taken during that time are extremely specific and detailed." A stagnant pause filled the air, then Roy began to speak once more, an odd emotion coloring his voice. The very last person taken was a woman, named Arella. It is in her honor that the ritual still continues...only now, it symbolizes unity, togetherness and love."

"Is Arella a common name on Azarath?" Garfield questioned, finding the names to be too much of a coincidence. If the two Arellas were the same...then the one standing before him, with long white flowing robes, and sparking eyelids would be nearing her forties?

No, it couldn't be... the Arella of the Great War supposedly died in captivity. Without leaving any known descendants. It was impossible.

**oOoOo**

Moonlight.

Roy Harper cursed his fate as he stumbled through the underbrush, footsteps uncharacteristically clumsy. His breath escaped his lips noisily, making him only too aware of his inadequacies. The whole forest seemed illuminated with the bright eerie glow of the moon...and yet, his feet landed awkwardly on every jutting tree root, stumbled over the ruts in the small hidden walkway. There was light, and yet...he was shrouded in darkness. How does the moon shine so brightly, yet curse him with the void of the night?

Why does the moon cast its loving gaze upon that woman, that devil, while baring his way with emptiness?

The weapons expert crashed through the trees, halting suddenly at the wide and open meadow that stretched on in front of him. Blue eyes widened with begrudging awe as the man took in the young woman darting towards the small brook, white robes flowing gracefully with every footfall. It wasn't right.

It wasn't proper.

It was sacrilege for this demoness to be so enchanting, to be blessed with such beauty...to fill his heart with carnal and evil desires. Callused fingers reached behind, silently pulling out a smooth arrow. Quietly, expertly, the man fitted the projectile onto his bow and drew back, eyebrows narrowed with a calculating solemness. The woman must die...she did not belong in this plane. She was a demon, a child sired from wickedness and raised in hell-fire.

A demon had no place among the living.

Roy Harper closed his eyes, calmly emptying his mind of useless thoughts. It was useless thinking about Garfield's opinion, or about his unhealthy attachment to the demoness. It was fruitless thinking about Richard's quest for vengeance and his need to 'know the truth'. Judgment will be carried out here...the verdict straight and true. Yes, he would send her back where she belonged. He would kill her and fulfill the duty passed down by his forefathers. The arrow flew from his fingertips, whistling silently through the air as it crept closer and closer to its unsuspecting target. Roy crept forward, eyes rapt and serious, breath now quiet and tense.

Waiting.

Roy Harper was waiting to see the arrow strike its target, itching to see crimson spread across that pure white garment, ears straining to listen to the woman as she cried out in pain.

Waiting...

Still waiting...The bow slipped from numb fingers, meeting the grass with a silent thud. Green eyes widened, breath escaped jaw-slackened lips with uneven pants.

Impossible!

Roy Harper, weapons expert, stumbled backwards into the forest, trying desperately to escape the sight of those laughing violet eyes. He turned, ready to flee into the forest...only to stagger out across the meadow, wary of the amused glint in the demoness' eyes. Cobalt blue eyes darted, taking in his bow, forgotten amongst the trees and the intercepted arrow, clenched in the woman's hands.

She caught it. Caught his arrow...without even looking.

"Roy Harper. Weapons Expert. Demon Slayer." She uttered, voice dropping to a deadly snarl. "I've heard many things about you. The way you slaughter my people without remorse, the way you kill innocents in the name of the Church and the Pope."

"Innocents? How can you call those sired of evil, innocents? How can one, in who Lucifer's blood flows, be called innocent? Should they not all be returned to their father in hell?" Roy intoned, a strange bravery flowing through his veins.

"Sired of evil? Kindred of Lucifer? Did they choose their fathers and mothers? Did they ask to be born, to walk upon an earth that despises them, to live amongst a people that hunt and slaughter them like animals! Cease from passing judgment until you have walked in their shoes!" The steel arrow in the woman's hands snapped and she stepped forward, giving the man a threatening shove. Violet eyes flashed, slender eyebrows narrowed, pearly white teeth bared in obvious wrath. "Are you God! Who are you to pass judgment, to deem righteous from unrighteous, sinners from the saved?"

Beautiful.

It was the only word that flashed through Roy Harper's depraved mind as he stared down at the slender woman. The way her eyes glinted with hidden anger, the angry flush coloring her pale pointed cheekbones, those enticing lips that turned down into a seductive pout...

Hands reacted before his mind could restrain them. Desperately, they pressed against her shoulders, pinning her against the broad tree trunk behind them. Swiftly, Roy brought his lips down to hers, reveling in the futile struggle of her now trapped wrists. His tongue pried open the demoness' mouth, drinking in the sharp pants escaping her lips. Roy pressed his body against hers, groaning softly as he rubbed his rising arousal between the woman's legs.

Heat.

Roy could feel it...that delicious heat swelling up in his loins, the burning ache of passion. The need for release. Another primal groan slipped from his mouth as the woman pushed against him, soft mounds of flesh molding against his hard chest.

Heat.

Then ice... Roy gasped as he struggled against the cold icy water, mind reeling to fill in the sudden turn of events. Green eyes stared in awe and terror as the young woman stood before him, pearly white teeth stained with blood.

His blood. Roy licked his lip, the coppery taste bitter and foul in his mouth. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, trying to curb his growing anger at her incessant laughing.

"Roy Harper. You would force me on my wedding night? Did you think that I, daughter of the Sun Goddess, beloved of the Moon and Ocean Spirits, would submit to you? A mere human?" A look of lofty pride entered her sparkling violet eyes. Icy fingers clamped around Roy's wrist with an immovable grip. Deftly, she pulled him from the water and flung him onto the soft embankment, smirking with amusement when he grunted in pain. "Roy Harper. Who are you, to put your filthy hands on me? Who are you to dare defile a god!"

The demoness flung her wrists into the air, and Roy could only watch as the water rose at her command. Droplets glittered in the still moonlight as they fell around him, their cold touch sending shivers across the man's skin. Green eyes widened, fingers clutched the soft grass of the meadow. She had control of water!

"I, whose command the water obeys."

The young woman stamped her feet against the embankment and the earth beneath him began to tremble and shake. Dumbstruck, Roy watched as the stones began to rise of the ground, filling the air with an eerie rattling. The wind blew harshly, small specks of dust angrily lashing out against his tanned skin.

"I who speaks to the earth, and she listens."

The weapons expert blinked against the increasing wind, scrambling back as the priestess raised her palm into the night sky and called forth fire. Light flared against the darkness, searing heat singed his face as flames shot from her fingertips, coiling round him like a snake poised to strike.

"I keeper of the secrets of fire."

A fearful shout escaped Roy Harper's trembling lips as the sorceress stepped forward, icy fingers gently curling around his wrist. Tensing, he pulled against her grasp, only to still at the steely gaze in her purple orbs. Jade green eyes gaped in fright as the demoness scooped up a handful of earth, and the weapons expert could only gape in awe as tiny sprouts began to shoot forth from the handful of earth.

His astonishment, gave way to unbearable pain. A scream tore from Roy's lips as he watched his hand slowly rot away, the pristine white bones glaring back at him. The acrid smell of rotting flesh entered his nostrils and desperately he pulled against the demoness' iron grip, the urge to vomit silencing his anguished cry.

Violet eyes gazed into his own green orbs. "I who holds life and death in the palm of my hand. Such a person, Roy Harper," she moved forward, pressing her lips gently against his ear. "cannot die."

* * *

**Poor Roy Harper...I've been watching the British TV show Robin Hood, and I thought 'That's how Roy should be' except a demon slayer. Expert archer, skilled with weapons...manipulated by the Holy Church. Awesome, no? **

**What do you think of Raven's powers? Forgive me if it seems Avatar-ish. I promise it won't be...she is a half-demon after all.**

**Review!**

**~heartless16**


	7. Chapter 7

**So here's the new chapter...and once again, sorry for the wait! **

**I'm hoping things aren't confusing. I don't want to drag this story out much, and since it is an adventure...I want to include all the exciting parts. ****So far, you've seen Raven's powers, you know she's engaged to Slade Wilson and you know Trigon's pretty well-feared. The group has now entered the Northern Kingdom, and are stalled once again by Raven's antics.**

**This is the perfect time to bring in Slade, don't you think? **

**Chapter 7**

**Disclaimer: Look in chapter 1**

* * *

"Thief! Stop that girl!"

Gruffly, the burly merchant hollered out, beefy hands clenching the small dagger at his side. No one steals from his cart and gets away unscathed. Even if it was a small loaf of bread…his workers toiled hard to provide these wares, the money helped feed their families. No thief would be allowed to disrupt this delicate balance…not on his watch.

A shout of affirmation echoed through the busy market place. "We've got her!" The villagers surged around the captor as he dragged the thief to the magistrate's compound. Whoever this thief was…they would be punished. Theft and robbery was a grave offence in this part of the country, where morality and righteousness had meticulously engrained themselves in society.

Moving in unison, the crowd surged through the gates, entering the magistrate's compound and pushing the delinquent girl to her knees.

A tense silence overcame the crowd as the magistrate stepped out, hands buried in the folds of his dark grey tunic. "What are the crimes brought against this girl?" The man inquired with a steady and neutral voice. As the enforcer of justice and peace, both parties must present their cases with equal and fair hearing.

The merchant stepped forward, hands still clenching the small dagger tucked safely in his belt. "Your Honor, this girl stole two loaves of bread from my cart. Many of those around me will testify to my claim."

At these words, shouts of agreement rose out from the onlookers.

"Child, you hear the accusations brought against you. Have you anything to say?" The magistrate inquired, his eyes narrowed slightly, trying to judge the look of nonchalance and indifference on her face.

Raven stared into the man's piercing gray eyes calmly. "I admit to my crime. I stole two loaves of bread to feed the orphans of this town."

The magistrate raised a brow in surprise. Never had he witnessed a case as this. Stealing to feed the poor? "If you wanted to feed the orphans why didn't you simply buy the bread?"

A wry smile spread on Raven's face. "I myself am penniless. This merchant looks well fed, his coffers must be full; surely he can spare a loaf or two for starving children?"

The merchant angrily replied. "Gladly would I have given of my abundance to help the needy…must she steal for such a reason? Your Honor, this girl is without upbringing, she lacks morals and conscience. In my day the penalty for theft was swift and merciless. Perhaps having one less hand might teach her a lesson!"

The magistrate coughed. "Now, now. Though her crime is great, it does not warrant the removal of any limbs. Perhaps as a warning, ten lashes would suffice? "

Raven stared into the magistrate's eyes with a calm look of respect. "Your Honor, I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary. My only request is that the needy children of this town be properly looked after. Surely one can find it in their hearts to cook them a hot breakfast or find them spare clothes? Such an act of kindness…will not be forgotten."

Silence filled the compound.

The magistrate stared in confusion and awe. Who was this child that spoke with such wisdom and eloquence? This girl whose features matched those of the southern kingdoms? An outsider, a foreigner… and yet so fluent in the northern tongue?

Who was this child? "Then, for the crime of stealing, ten lashes will be given." He raised his hand slowly and turned around, not willing to behold the punishment of this fascinating young woman.

**oOoOo**

Garfield watched, his eyes wide with worry and fear as the magistrate turned his back on the crowd, gray cloak swishing prestigiously. He was seriously going through this?

His mistress was going to be flogged…all for a loaf of bread? How could she have gotten into this mess? Wasn't she told to stay close to the group? Why did she have to wander into town and try to play hero? Wringing his hands tightly, the teen searched the crowds for any sign of Richard and the rest of the group. Did they even notice Arella's absence?

Were they searching for her now? Hurriedly, Garfield pushed through the throng, trying to get a glimpse of the young woman who meant so much to him. He didn't want to see her hurt. "Arella!" The teen cried out, his voice lost amongst the voices of the townspeople. What was she going to do?

What was _he_ going to do?

Garfield clenched his fists, breath catching in his throat as the priestess turned sharply, violet eyes meeting frantic jade orbs. In that moment, it seemed as if time froze. The air seemed too chilly and too still for the warm Northern summers. The sun darted behind the clouds, as if afraid of a hidden enemy. Shadows were cast over the square, yet those eerie purple-like eyes continued to stare.

And what a strange look it was.

Why did she look that way? Why were her eyes filled with such a strange look of resignation? Why did she look like she'd been through such an ordeal in the past?

A subdued silence swept over the crowd as the sounds of heavy clanging metal echoed ominously. Garfield bit his lip in agony as the two guards forced his mistress to her knees and fastened her hands tightly to the whipping post. Jade green eyes flinched shut as the guards tore apart the thin frayed dress and rose the whip threateningly…what would happen if her secret were exposed? The mark of Scath was a symbol feared and loathed throughout the Northern Kingdoms…would Arella be killed for bearing this mark of evil?

Why was everyone so silent?

Why didn't he hear the tell-tale noise of leather upon flesh, the gasp of the crowd, and the agonized scream of the priestess? What had happened? Garfield peered out from narrowed eyelids, only to gasp in surprise. Quickly, he fell to his knees, mimicking the townspeople. Why were they kneeling?

What was it about that mark that struck fear into the hearts of men?

**oOoOo**

The magistrate stumbled back in fear when he turned to observe the source of the villagers' uncanny silence. The mark of Scath. Hands clenched with worry and apprehension inside his gray cloak. Hadn't his people suffered enough at the hands of Trigon the Terrible? What terrible omen was this, that his daughter should enter their lands and commit a crime worthy of punishment?

What was he going to do?

Punish the girl and risk the threat of total annihilation? Yes, he'd heard the stories, the rumors of Trigon and his overly protected daughter. Rumors of her great abilities and powers. Tales of the great and terrible things she had done in her father's name... "Release the girl, immediately!" A sigh left his lips as the guards complied.

How could he have been so…so blind to the truth? How could he have overlooked the girl's features, the distinct accent of the Southern Kingdom? Even the small gem on her forehead, how could he have overlooked its importance? His negligence could have caused another war to break out...Trigon's spies were everywhere. And surely the great king of the South wouldn't take kindly to his daughter being flogged over two petty loaves of bread.

"Daughter of the South, I beg of you,forgive my ignorance. In my blindness, I failed to see the truth of your identity. No punishment shall befall you today, please…go in peace and forgive the actions of your humble servant." Would such an apology suffice?

The magistrate stared at the scene before with a tense face; already the weather had begun to change. Sunny skies gave way to foreboding clouds. The calm breeze that would have been perfect for the town feast dissipated...replaced with a chilling stillness, something very uncharacteristic of the summer months.

Raven rose to her feet, violet eyes trained on the parapet where the magistrate stood. "Do not shirk the law because of me. I committed a crime, and should be punished under the law…making exceptions would only appear weak and cowardly. "

A wry smile tugged at the magistrate's lips. Weak and cowardly. Spoken like a true politician. However, when dealing with Trigon, it was better to appear weak and cowardly. The lives of his people would be better saved through his admission of cowardice...than a staunch display of pride and prestige.

The magistrate swallowed. "Yes, Your Grace. However, your father may not see things in the same light. For my sake, and the sake of my people…overlook this discrepancy. "

"I will grant your wish…provided that you keep to my pleas concerning the children. It pains me greatly to see young ones suffer for things they cannot control." Raven intoned her voice regal and commanding.

The magistrate watched the young woman rise stiffly, hands clutching the tattered dress to her chest. A pang of emotion pierced his heart. His own daughter looked to be her age…and he couldn't help the sorrow that flooded his heart as she took a hesitant step forward…only to slump to the floor with exhaustion.

**oOoOo**

"Mistress!" Garfield pushed through the throng of people, his arms quickly wrapping around the priestess fallen form. "Are you alright?" His slender fingers clasped her arms firmly as he pulled the woman to her feet, holding her closely to his body. Somehow, despite the warm weather, Arella was cold…very cold. Garfield could only stare in confusion as he watched the young woman struggle to breathe, the harsh intakes of air was too shallow to be any help.

"Calm down. Breathe in slowly." The deckhand encouraged, remembering the things Victor taught him.

Gently grasping her numb fingers, Garfield began to rub them vigorously, trying to warm them back up. How does one get so cold in such a short time? Why was this priestess so strange? And why did the magistrate refer to Arella as 'daughter of the south'? Azarath wasn't that far from this kingdom...only three days by boat. Why was he so afraid about the mark of Scath?

Afraid enough to call her 'Your Grace'; something only reserved for royalty? Was it possible that a priestess was considered royalty? And Arella's father...was he truly as fearful as the magistrate made him out to be?

"He's here." The priestess mumbled, her light voice painted with shock and disbelief.

Her body trembled like a leaf, and Garfield wasn't sure if it was because of the cold…or something else. He tightened his embrace, wishing there was a cloak nearby to warm her chilled frame. "Who's here?" Garfield looked up, jade green eyes scanning the crowd.

Was she talking about Richard? He wasn't in the crowd though. "Arella, what's…?" The teen's voice cut off as the priestess broke free from his grasp and darted out of the gates, suddenly filled with energy. What was going on?

"Arella! Wait!" Standing, Garfield took off after the young woman, marveling at the incredible burst of speed she seemed to have attained. Wasn't she struggling to breathe a few minutes ago? Where did that burst of energy come from?

Suddenly, Garfield froze in the middle of the dusty market street, jaw dropping in confusion and awe as he watched Arella fling herself into a man's embrace.

Who was that man?

**oOoOo**

A growl of anger escaped Richard's lips as he and the few men with him sprinted down the dusty, main road, searching frantically for the priestess and the deckhand. Where could they have gone? Didn't he give clear enough instructions? Were his words garbled when he said 'don't pass through the towns'? How can one woman cause so much trouble!?

"Captain, it seems the villagers are heading towards the main square. If we follow them, the priestess will be found."

Richard turned to look at Roy Harper, a dubious look in his ice blue eyes. Roy Harper was a suspicious man, and Richard could tell the weapons expert knew more than he was revealing. Why was Roy sounding so …smug and all-knowing? Was there something about the priestess he wasn't aware about? "And if she's not?"

A catty smile spread on the man's rugged features. "Trust me Captain; the priestess cannot resist helping the less fortunate…even if it means breaking the law."

Richard shrugged, eyes staring out across the strangely empty main road. Wasn't today supposed to be a market day? Why were things so quiet? Thin lips narrowed in suspicion as Richard's keen eyes spotted another traveler, heading towards them. Though the man's face was obscured by the glare of the sun, Richard couldn't help the strange sensation that flitted with annoyance in his stomach.

Somehow, his silhouette seemed familiar. Almost as if he'd seen him before….from a distance. But was that possible? For someone's silhouette to be recognizable?

Maybe the sun had dulled his senses.

A muffled shout echoed across the quiet road, and Richard watched with surprise as the priestess ran out from the tall gated square, rushing not to him, but to the stranger walking down the road.

The young man sprinted ahead, heart filling with a jealous rage as she threw herself into his outstretched arms, a squeal of happiness escaping her lips. Richard skidded to a stop in front of Garfield, seething in anger as the stranger lifted the priestess into the air, kissing her passionately.

Realization hit the captain like a ton of bricks. He did know this man! How could he forget that white hair, those eyes the color of glowing emeralds…the boy who taunted and teased him so many years ago at his father's house.

"You!"

**oOoOo**

Joy.

Unspeakable joy burst out Raven's heart as she threw herself into Wilson's outstretched arms, a peal of laughter tumbling from her lips. He was here! Wilson was really here! It was his arms that lifted her up, his scent that filled her nostrils, and his aura that enveloped her senses… the aura she could no longer feel after Richard pried the bracelets from her feet.

Oh, to see Wilson again!

To touch him, caress him; to know that he really was real…this was not a dream. Wilson had come for her…just as he'd promised all those years ago! Raven said nothing as she curled up into Wilson's arms, tears still dripping from her violet eyes. Inhaling, the young woman smiled as the man's comforting scent wafted up her nose, bringing back long forgotten memories.

He didn't smell like the snow…only of leather, parchment and cinnamon. "Wilson, were you in France? Your father's house always did smell like books and cinnamon. What of Nadine? Has she married yet? Oh, and Jacques…is he a doctor now? I wanted to write but-"

Wilson chuckled, the deep tones of his voice smooth and velvety. Softly, he planted a kiss on Raven's nose, a smile on his lips as he uttered, "All in good time, love."

His emerald eyes twinkled with mirth and happiness and Raven couldn't help the butterflies that filled her stomach.

She hadn't seen him in so long…how was it that someone could look completely different, and yet still be the same? His voice had changed…the deep seductive tenor being something Raven didn't remember about Wilson. He had grown taller, stronger…his arms, chest and shoulders impeccably taut and rippling with muscle.

Time had blessed him abundantly…his features were even more handsome than in the past. The man's face was flawless, displaying a strong chiseled jawline, well defined cheekbones and a nose that curved elegantly, proudly displaying his Lastonian origin. Emerald green eyes that once glittered with childish mischief now smoldered with mystery and intrigue, a trait that seemed most alluring to the priestess.

Raven reached up, gently tracing her finger across the man's cheek and smiled when she realized his dimple was still there. After all these years, to find that his smile was still the same thrilled her heart.

"You!" Richard's aggravated voice sliced through Raven's thoughts and she turned to stare at him in confusion, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Are you talking to me, Richard? Because you have no right to use such a tone, what did I ever do to you?" She spoke, her English sounding like the choppy Scottish accent Garfield used.

Wilson looked down at the woman cradled in his arms, eyebrows tilted in surprise. "You know these people, love?"

Raven closed her eyes and burrowed her face into Wilson's warm cotton shirt. A sigh escaped her lips as she replied in French, "These people are horrid! They took me from the temple…he wishes to have me tried for a crime I did not commit."

Wilson's eyes narrowed as he placed the priestess back on her feet. Hands now unoccupied, he reached into the folds of his coat, withdrew a small revolver and released the safety, pointing it at the captain with a blank face. "Richard Grayson. You remember me. I'm flattered."

A tense silence overcame the crowd, and Raven scuffed her moccasin clad feet against the dusty road, wondering if she should intervene. It was…actually a surprise, to know that Wilson and Richard had met some time in the past. How long ago was it? Judging from the wrathful glare in Richard's eyes, Raven knew the two hadn't been friendly to each other in the past. One would think the two to be rivals.

Without waiting for a reply, the tall man continued speaking. "Then surely you remember just how good of a marksman I am?" A sadistic smirk pulled at the man's lips, and his voice lowered to a seductive hiss. "Shall I remind you?"

"Whoa!" Let's not be too hasty. I'm sure we can all come to an understanding, over some dinner, right?" Garfield cut in, his voice apprehensive and nervous.

Raven eyed Garfield curiously. Biting her lip, she moved in front of Wilson and placed her hand on his arm. "Garfield is my friend. I don't want him getting hurt." A stagnant silence filled the air as Raven silently pleaded with the irate man. As much as she wanted Richard to suffer for kidnapping her, simply killing him was not the answer. No, she had…other ways of making him remorseful.

Besides, if Richard was killed, the truth about Bruce Wayne's death would never be solved. Even if she hated the man, he still had a purpose. Raven wrapped her arms around her soul-mate as he concealed his weapon. She looked up, eyes filled with a silent thanks. "We need to find out about Bruce Wayne's death…he blames my mother. But she's innocent."

Wilson pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Bruce Wayne was stabbed…and no murder weapon was ever found. How credible is this claim?"

Raven exhaled softly, as she replied, still speaking with the man in French, lest Richard understand the conversation. "He was an eyewitness...whoever killed Bruce Wayne, wasn't silent. Richard says he saw my mother. If he's right then Trigon is involved."

Wilson laughed. "Why would Trigon want to kill Bruce Wayne?"

Raven turned away, violet eyes emptily staring into the sky. "Why wouldn't he?"

**oOoOo**

Peals of laughter rang out across the large terrace, and the smell of roasting meat filled the air. The mood was festive, with many exotic and interesting dances, endless platters and trays of food as well as impressive music. It was a happy night…a joyous occasion. So why wasn't he happy?

Richard lifted a spoonful of rice into his mouth, chewing slowly as he observed the smiling faces around him. Victor was happy, flanked by many curious villagers. Curious, because despite his dark skin and eyes, he was not Armenia. Such people were apparently oddities in the great kingdoms of the North.

Roy Harper seemed at ease discussing weaponry with the young men, his cobalt blue eyes glowed as he described the many bows and their intricate forging. While Richard was a decent marksman, he didn't have too much of an interest in how the weapons were made. Maybe if he'd grown up the son of a blacksmith, or a hunter...perhaps then he'd appreciate the work that went into creating the arrows he wasted over his childhood.

Ice blue eyes flickered with an uncharacteristic tiredness as he observed Garfield and Arella playing a strange game with two jumping ropes. What were the children calling it? Double-Dutch? Why did it have such a name? Maybe the better question was…how the hell did Arella have so much energy? Wasn't Garfield going on and on earlier about how she 'needed rest after going through such a terrible ordeal'?

How could she jump and frolic around, how could she smile after what she did? How does one walk around with an empty conscience after killing a person? How did she do it?

Richard's eyes left the playing children, landing on the white-haired man resting casually against the trunk of an old tree. Wilson seemed contemplative…at least Richard thought he did. It was hard trying to decipher the blank look on the Wilson's face as he gazed into the darkening sky. What was he thinking of…staring off so intently? How was he here and yet…thousands of miles away?

Were all Lastonians this way? Cold and intimidating? Emotionless and void of compassion?

Everyone said they were…Richard wasn't sure who to believe. Everyone said Lastonians were cruel and merciless assassins. Was Wilson an assassin, then? How many people had he killed without remorse? Did he kill them with honor? Or were their last moments spent begging for mercy the man couldn't offer?

Ice blue eyes watched in veiled wonder as the magistrate's seven-year old daughter made her way to the Lastonian man and curled up in his lap, a look of contented peace on her childish face. If Wilson was surprised…he didn't show it. In fact, he probably didn't even notice the girl…nor did he seem to care. Those strange green eyes continued staring emptily into the evening sky, shutting out the world around him. The sight of it seemed… very picturesque, really. There was this strange sensation of peace and serenity surrounding Wilson and the sleeping child…a stark contrast to the excitement and action of the feast.

Like the lion and the lamb.

Richard couldn't help but marvel. A man trained to kill, a merciless assassin embracing a child as if it were his own. Caring for the child with such a gentle touch…could Wilson even kill at all? If a child was not afraid of him…who would be? Who could be afraid of a man so…gentle and loving?

Perhaps Wilson wasn't a deadly assassin after all, Richard mused as he watched Arella gracefully sink to her knees beside the Lastonian. Her slender fingers reached out to touch the sleeping child, while her face clouded with a seemingly concerned look. Was something wrong with the magistrate's daughter? The young man couldn't help but strain his ears to listen…they weren't speaking French this time, but the common trade language spoken over the kingdoms.

"She has a fever, Wilson. I believe they call it pneumonia in this country. I do not know how to cure it." Dark violet eyes glittered with concern as they stared at the sleeping child.

Wilson looked down for the first time, unusual emerald eyes filling with a strange emotion. "Are you sure there is no way?"

Arella pursed her lips. "I must understand her pain if I am to heal her…you understand me, oui?"

Wilson moved his hand slowly, fingertips trailing softly down Arella's cheek. "I do not wish to see you sick, love."

A reassuring smile graced the priestess lips. "I will be fine…and so will she. Do you not feel it Wilson? The power in her aura? The bond between our spirits? She came to you for companionship and understanding. This girl shares our abilities and gifts! I can sense her fate will be filled with much love and happiness!" The preistess' tone was hopeful, light and carefree. She seemed to care genuinely about the welfare of the child, and honestly wished a happy life for the little girl.

Wilson's emerald eyes darkened. "She will never find happiness here. They will kill her first." The man's tone was ominous, and the implication of his words seemed too disastrous to contemplate.

Richard's eyes widened…kill her? He couldn't understand the hidden meaning behind Wilson's words...though he knew one existed. Who would want to kill such an innocent child? Why was the girl's life in danger? And what 'gifts' and 'abilities' did the three of them share? Transfixed, the young man could only stare as Arella's eyes took on a vengeful glare.

Then suddenly, lightning flashed across the night sky and a boom of thunder shook the ground. The wind began to shriek, filling the man's ears with a horrid noise. In the distance, the startled shouts of the people echoed as if they were thousands of miles away. He watched in a daze as people darted into the house; shrieks and exclamations floating through his ears and exiting without understanding.

Rain began to spill from the heavens in torrents, banging and splashing noisily on the zinc roofs of the houses...and despite all this Richard sat, ice blue eyes frozen in astonishment and fear, captivated by the anger in the woman's eyes. It was frightening…and beautiful. Shivers coursed up and down his spine; had it really gotten so cold in such a short time?

Wilson stood swiftly, taking hold of the priestess and pulling her up. "Enough Raven! You cannot save everyone! Fate bows to no one…not even to you." Even through the storm, the man's obvious anger and irritation was clear. Despite the darkening sky, Wilson's narrowed eyes and frowning mouth were visible. Yes, he was angry...but why? What had Arella done?

"Then maybe this child should die now." The priestess intoned, her voice as cold and as merciless as the wind. She took a step back, staring with fierceness at Wilson, fists clenched at her sides.

Wilson was silent for a time, a look of resignation clouding his strange eyes. "Maybe, but the choice is not yours to make."

"And whose choice is it? Would you have killed me too, if the choice was yours?" Arella's voice was softer now...a strange sort of sadness evident in her tone. Her hands were no longer clenched in anger, but now awkwardly twisting the old traveling dress she'd been forced to wear when they entered the Northern kingdom.

A sarcastic laugh escaped the Lastonian's mouth. "Your father would not be pleased, if I killed you then. If and when he gives the order, rest assured that I would not hesitate. I promise a swift and painless death."

"You love me, yet speak such callous words!" Arella stepped back, an eerie smirk playing on her lips. "Tell me, do you regret it? Being my father's slave? Perhaps if I died back then, you'd be free." Her tone was sardonic, and mocking.

"Dwelling on the past has always been your weakness, Raven. As I said before, neither you nor I can decide who lives or dies…only the gods make such decrees." The man turned, a sense of finality in his tone.

Arella scoffed bitterly, her purple-ish eyes flashing with disdain. "The same gods who cursed your people? The gods who sit back and let my kind be slaughtered in cold blood? They turn deaf ears to our cries; we are persecuted, tortured and killed in their name! Am I to sit back and watch this child suffer from their cruel games? Damn the gods!"

Wilson turned around, eyes flashing with a confusing anger. "Damn them if you must, Raven! But never forget; you are worthless without their power."

Richard could only stare in confusion as his eyes darted from Wilson's retreating form, to Arella as she slumped to the grass in defeat. How does one understand a conversation and yet feel so…lost? What exactly were the two speaking about? How could Wilson be a slave? And the magistrate's daughter…

Richard stood to his feet, genuine worry building up in his mind. Would the little girl be alright? Those two weren't going to kill her, were they? Richard was on the stairs leading up the verandah when a sudden thought entered his mind.

Wilson had been calling the priestess, Raven.

* * *

**What do you think? ****That scene with Slade and the magistrates daughter...I was thinking of Sesshomaru and Rin when I wrote it. Please overlook any discrepancies.**

**To be honest I'm not too sure about the Slade I have in this story...he's not a villain so I'm not used to his ways. I guess he's somewhat normal...only living in a world that persecutes those with magic and strange abilities. ****As far as cryptic and mysterious, I think he fits bill?**

**Review!**

**~heartless16**


	8. Chapter 8

**I think this story needs more Wilson. Any ideas? Perhaps scenes from the past?**

**Chapter 8**

**Disclaimer: Look in Chapter 1**

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Roy Harper's eyes scanned the terrain, a strange sense of unease condensing in his stomach. Why did he feel like he was being watched? Pausing mid mid-step, the young man stared into thicket of greenery on his left, fingers slowly reaching for the arrows across his shoulder.

Turning slowly, the archer appraised the crowd in front of him, watching as the white-haired man placed the squirming six year old into Richard's unsuspecting arms and calmly withdrew a revolver from the folds of his trench coat.

"Victor, Garfield, come here now." The archer intoned, nocking an arrow with precision. He ignored the questioning looks; there was no time for such. These bandits may have been following them for a while, perhaps waiting to escape the city boundaries. Pursing his lips, Roy resisted the urge to groan out loud.

Wasn't the intent of taking this road to avoid bandits? Resisting the urge to sigh, the young man glanced quickly at the strangely darkening sky, was a storm brewing? Was it not sunny and calm a few hours ago? Cobalt blue eyes glanced warily at the priestess, noting her clenched fists and squared shoulders.

Was this strange weather the result of her moods? Was she able to control the weather as well?

"Roy Harper. Weapons Expert. Demon Slayer. Can you handle your own against a band of forty thieves? Or does the Church only sanction the genocide of my people?" The priestess questioned, without bothering to glance in his direction. The woman's arrogant posture was infuriating enough; must she always speak to him with such a condescending tone?

"Just don't get in my way." Roy retorted, itching to send one of his arrows in her direction. The man watched with veiled surprise as the woman finally acknowledged him, her violet eyes glittering with pleasure.

"You wish to strike me, do you not?" A sadistic laugh bubbled from her blood red lips. "Go on, shoot me!" The woman shoot before him, hands outstretched, taunting him with that conceited tone.

"Enough!" Wilson uttered as he strode forward, resting his hands tightly around the priestess' shoulders. "We don't have time for games. Roy, put that bow away. Any sign of aggression will only cause them to attack."

Roy Harper complied, quietly watching as Wilson extracted the still squirming toddler from Richard's awkward grasp and placed her into the priestess' arms… giving her a strange admonishment to 'act motherly'. Whatever did that mean?

The priestess laughed at Wilson's instruction. "Motherly? I know not of such things." Nevertheless, the young woman draped the sleeping child against her back, securing her in place with the sash of her outfit.

Roy couldn't help but stare in wonder as the priestess assumed her role with ease. Did she truly know nothing of being a mother? How did she then know to secure the child in such a manner? And using the style common to the people of the Southern Kingdom?

Was she a mere demon, a creature he often hunted and killed during his travels? Or was she truly _the_ long lost daughter of Trigon? Could that explain the strange powers and uncanny strength? A mere demon would never have stopped an arrow of his….it was nigh impossible!

"Harper, protect Raven." Wilson quietly intoned and moved ahead, a calculating finesse to his silent footsteps.

"Raven. Wilson called you Raven. Twice. " Richard questioned aloud, his eyes slanted towards the priestess. "What is your name, truly?"

Roy watched as the young woman turned slightly, and he could almost feel the smug look as it spread on the woman's features. Such arrogance! Clenching the bow in his hand, Roy swallowed his displeasure and plodded on, hoping a small stream would pass through the old city road.

**oOoOo**

"My name is whatever you want it to be, Richard." The solemnness coated over the priestess statement, did little to conceal the amusement emanating from her eyes. The young woman paused quickly, shifting the sleeping child on her back before resuming her shuffling gait.

Richard couldn't help but bristle in annoyance. Of course she would reply with such vague nonsense. Why did he even bother? Gritting his teeth, the man eyed the girl with a visage of anger etched onto his features. Had he been tricked this whole time? How many weeks had it been…yet she refused to mention her true identity?

"Stop with all the riddles!" The loud and irritable voice flew from his lips without thought.

Like clockwork, everyone halted in their steps and spun round, eyes wide and blinking with wonder. A gust of wind blew through the dusty path, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Richard glared back, trying hard not to blink at the dust stinging his face. "I demand the truth! What is your name, woman!"

The priestess pursed her lips, an odd emotion flickering in her eyes. Shifting her stance, the woman stared at the sky for several quiet minutes. "You dare to command me so haughtily as if I am your slave?"

The woman finally met his gaze, her violet eyes now cold and teeming with displeasure. "You should be pleased, Richard Grayson…did you not come to Azarath looking for Arella? Did you not swear upon your dead father's grave to make Arella pay for murdering him? Arella is here...and still you complain." A chuckle left the priestess' lips and she snapped her fingers in amusement.

"I told you before, Richard. I will give no answers until you bestow upon me the respect I deserve. How long will it take till the great captain shows humility? I'm a very patient woman, Grayson."

**oOoOo**

The strait was an odd gray color today…and the sky was equally as downcast. Victor stared at the water wondering if it was wise to cross the choppy waters. Turning, the young man took in the crowd of people that huddled on the ferry…clutching bags and sacks of belongings. These must be refugees, trying to escape the civil war that Wilson somehow managed to evade.

The clacking sound of dice entered his ears and Victor couldn't help but smile as he watched the young priestess and Garfield playing dice with the small, shabbily clothed children. Most of them were healthy…surprisingly. All they needed was good food and a clean place to sleep. These people had traveled or miles…hoping for safety.

Victor shook his head. And what exactly had he journeyed for these thousands of miles? Revenge? Retribution? Was it worth it? Traveling for days on roads hidden for decades? Enduring the ever-present threat of renegade bandits? Sleeping on the rough and uneven ground for nights?

The ferry lurched suddenly and Victor gripped the rails tightly, taking in the busy docks. How many more miles was it from these docks to Richard's house? Or perhaps the priestess would be taken straight to the prisons? Somehow, he didn't think Wilson would allow the latter.

Victor's hazel eyes landed on the white-haired mercenary, watching the way he pulled the priestess to her feet and brushed the dirt from her tunic. Strangely, the man seemed less the doting lover and more like a reluctant caretaker. Exactly who was he?

How does a person exhibit such opposite personalities? Is Wilson truly the feared and ruthless mercenary spoken and hailed in rumors? This man's feats were acknowledged across the kingdoms, many tales spoke of his immortality…a gift bestowed upon him by Trigon himself.

But was any of it even accurate? There was always a sliver of truth in gossip…Victor just couldn't figure out which tale was truth and which was a lie.

"Victor!"

Richard's voice entered his ears and Victor slowly began to make his way off the ferry and onto the docks. The sea was growing more restless by the minute and Victor clutched the rails tightly as he tried to move against the swaying ferry. A sigh escaped the man's lips; it was one thing to travel by boat…quite another to ferry across a strait known for violent and sudden storms.

Staring straight ahead, Victor's brown eyes landed on the strange purple-colored irises of the priestess. How does one have such a strange eye color? He would think her to be Lastonian...but the dark tresses disproved such a theory.

A bright smile broke out on the priestess face as she jumped and waved at him eagerly. Victor couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips…nor could he deny the swell of courage filling his heart. As he stepped off the boat, the man glanced in awe as the sun broke from the clouds and the sea stilled.

It was as if she calmed the sea…just for him.

**oOoOo**

Wilson had disappeared.

Richard wasn't sure when or why…the man simply vanished the night the group had made it to shore. Strangely enough, it seemed like the priestess didn't care at all? Perhaps she knew where he went?

Richard shook his head; the woman wouldn't divulge such truths, especially to him. He even offered her the choice of house arrest if she would reveal the mercenary's whereabouts. It was all to no avail. Now the priestess resided in the town prison, awaiting her trial.

Leaning back, Richard took a sip of the bourbon in his glass. How long had he been traveling? A month plus? And still he had not laid eyes on his beloved Korianna. Perhaps she was angry with him?

The young man placed his hands wearily on the heavy oak table and leaned forward, ice blue eyes scanning the many books that lined the shelves of his study. There were many of the books on that shelf that didn't belong to him...he'd never been a heavy reader.

Standing swiftly, the now ex-captain stretched his aching limbs and exited the study, determined to see his fiancé. Should he walk? Or maybe take a horse?

**oOoOo**

The sound of delighted laughter and mindless chattering filled Richard's ears as he followed the butler into the garden. The man said nothing as he continued walking down the long hallway. Hadn't Korianna been decorating this wing of the mansion before he left?

Some of these paintings were brand new…even the paint on the walls. Richard couldn't help but wonder what the rest of the house looked like. Maybe he'd tour the entire place later. Pausing, the man eyed one of the many regal looking paintings as a maid slipped past him balancing a tray of filled wine glasses.

What kind of gathering would this be? Pausing mid-step, the young man's eyes widened as he watched several servants bustle in carrying bundles of cloth. Perhaps he was mistaken…maybe the lighting wasn't the best, could that really have been Arella's tunic?

The faded green and yellow tunic she mysteriously donned during the ridiculously long trek through the Northern Kingdoms…what was it doing here?Pursing his lips, the young man briskly walked past the butler and began to dash towards the garden. She wouldn't have…Korianna couldn't have.

Richard pushed the doors open and skidded to a stop, mouth dropping in wonder.

Inhaling slowly, the young man quietly walked closer to the intriguing sight. There, struggling viciously to escape the iron-grip of several housekeepers was the priestess. He watched in astonishment as the maids viciously restrained the young woman and proceeded to encase her within the rigid confines of a beautifully embroidered corset.

Richard couldn't help the shudder that coursed through his body as the priestess screamed in agony. The man's feet seemed to freeze as he stumbled back, hands clamping over his ears in desperation as the woman let out another tortured cry. Whirling, the young man stalked towards the house with an angry frown.

Why does Korianna insist on playing these games? With force the man threw open the door to the verandah and stomped in, ice blue eyes coming to rest on his troublesome fiancée. "Korianna, you shouldn't have released her from the prison…that woman is dangerous. I didn't bring her back for you to model the latest fashions!"

"Richard Grayson, is that how you greet your beloved wife-to-be after weeks at sea?" Korianna turned and smiled happily, arms stretched out wide, "Won't you kiss me?"

**oOoOo**

"I understand, Richard. I really do, but just look at her. She's so uncivilized! How is she supposed to stand trial when she can't even speak English? And her posture!" The red-haired heiress shook her perfectly coiled hair in disgust.

The young woman set down the china cup firmly against the table, a huff of defiance escaping her rouged lips. "I simply could not let such a travesty grace the High Court. "

Richard nodded, his ice blue eyes staring into a cup of tea. "I get it. But you have to understand…she's a priestess, a really revered person in Azarath. You can't just tie her down and decorate her like a doll…especially outside! And she does speak English...and French and Armenian; she speaks the common Northern language, and the language of Azarath. Even Lastonian!"

Korianna's green eyes glittered in intrigue. Rising, the woman stepped towards the balcony, watching the struggling maids attempt to style the woman's thick, dark locks. "So many languages!" A flicker of emotion passed briefly through the heiress' twinkling eyes as she stared across the verandah. "It wasn't like this earlier. She was rather calm during her bath….Do they wear corsets in Azarath, Richard?"

Richard choked, setting down the glass and pressing a cloth napkin to the mess he'd created on the table. "Heavens, no! The climate is much too hot and the people do not care for the confines of corsets and petticoats."

Korianna pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I should like to visit Azarath, and study their strange ways. Perhaps one might find a bit of usefulness in such carefree attitudes." The heiress crossed the room, and rested a gloved hand against Richard's shoulder. "Come and see …the priestess looks so lady-like now!"

Richard blinked. Did Kori even listen to anything he said? Shaking his head with a small smile, the young man stepped out into the gardens, a sense of dread filling his stomach with every hesitant step. Why was he feeling this way?

"Arella." Somehow, Richard wasn't expecting her to look so…so proper. Was this not the uncultured woman who made his life miserable these past few months? The shameless woman with her excessive jewelry and immodest clothing who tormented and filled his mind with ungodly images?

A soft wind floated through the garden, the cool evening air ruffling the long skirts of the elegant purple gown, worn by the priestess. The black corset laced around her torso and the long ruffled sleeves seemed odd on her…she looked so pale now, so lifeless.

The young man swallowed thickly at the strange feeling welling up in his heart; her feet…those same legs that ran, skipped and climbed to the top of the ship's mast, now were trapped within a pair of sophisticated black shoes. Even her hair…her long loose braid had been coiffed, curled and hidden away under an expensive looking hat.

Everything about her…all her annoying characteristics, the arrogant stance, the sassy tilt to her eyebrows and the impish smirk…all had disappeared. Arella was now an emotionless doll.

"What have I done?" Richard whispered, horror filling his heart.

All his actions, suddenly he saw them anew…and he couldn't help the self-loathing that plagued his mind. He forcibly captured this woman…tore her away from the only home she'd ever known, tortured, abused and mistreated her…and for what?

Revenge? Retribution?

She was free once…happy and liberated. What had he done? The mischievous twinkle in her strange colored eyes disappeared the minute she entered the prison cell… now this.

Now she was trapped within the folds and frills of 'civilization'. Her spirit caged and stifled…all to look 'lady-like'.

"I've never worn a corset before…can't say I ever want to wear one again." The woman turned, her purple eyes staring intensely at the red-haired heiress. A strange look of discomfort flitted across the woman's pale features and her delicate eyebrows furrowed in irritation. "How does one breathe in this bloody thing?" The priestess took a hasty step forward, stumbling over the unfamiliar shoes.

Richard dashed forward, shaking arms pulling the woman back to her unstable feet. "I'm sorry", the words left his lips without thought and he stared into her pain filled eyes, saying nothing about the look of arrogance that flitted across her face.

"Kori, tell them to loosen the corset…she's having trouble breathing. No, just get rid of it...I doubt anyone would feel up to testifying while in pain."

The priestess smirked. As promised my name, Richard Grayson, is Raven."

**oOoOo**

Cyborg had been right after all.

Richard sighed and opened his eyes slowly, taking in the two women sitting across him in the carriage. The court date was set... how would he explain to the judge this conundrum? That Arella died many years ago and her daughter would testify in her stead? Was such a thing even allowed? "Did you ever meet Bruce? At all?"

He was grasping at straws, but maybe she remembered a memory...an argument, heated discussion or even something Arella mentioned. Anything to help him find out why Bruce had been assassinated.

Raven furrowed her eyebrows as she fiddled with the black gloves covering her hands. "I believe I met him once...my mother took me to his house. Even you were there." Turning, the young woman angled her face towards the window and peered out in awe, her hot breath fogging the view.

Richard's ice blue eyes widened in disbelief. "No. I would have remembered." Had he really met her all those years ago? Pursing his lips the young man tried to recall those vivid violet eyes...staring back at him in childish wonder.

She was right! That day...four days before Bruce died! The strange woman and her weird daughter who didn't speak a word of English. It was a warm day and the servants had opened the windows, letting in a crisp autumn breeze. The toys in his room did little to quell his boredom so he took to running down the many empty corridors...and tripped on his face right in front of her. Richard shook his head as he recalled how clumsy he'd been as a child. "What business did your mother have that day?"

Raven craned her neck ever so slightly and glanced at him with in disbelief. "And why the hell would I know? I was only three." Letting out a huff the woman smoothed her dress and sat back, a slightly haughty air to her actions.

"You remembered me! And Bruce as well!. You can't use age as an excuse!" Richard half-yelled, a sense of desperation tinging his voice. "There has to be something you remember...anything!"

Violet eyes flashed with a defiant light. Richard held his breath as she leaned forward, her black gloved hand coming to rest on his knee. The young man swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Why was he feeling so...hot?

Richard tugged at the collar on his pressed white shirt and he exhaled loudly as her hand crept higher up his leg. Shifting, he clenched his fist, hoping in vain to will away his growing arousal. Embarrassed, the young man jerked his leg away, heart pounding in his chest. "What the hell was that!"

Raven sat back, a blank look on her face. "Trying to calm you down." The young woman grinned then turned to Korianna, "Do you smell smoke?"

Richard stepped out as the carriage rolled to an unexpected stop. His ice blue eyes widened in shock. Turning back he darted back through the gathering crowd and reentered the carriage gripping Korianna's hand. "The courthouse is on fire." His eyes landed on the black gloves hanging lifelessly on the seat. "Where's Raven?"

"She went in to the crowd...said something about a storm? I couldn't stop her, Richard." Korianna stepped out the buggy and scanned the crowds..."Oh!, Richard, there beside the blacksmith!"

He took off, darting through the throngs of people as the wind began to blow viciously, soot and smoke from the building burning his eyes and lungs. "Raven!" He sighed in relief as she turned around...and then froze as he stared into her glowing white eyes. A strangled whisper left his throat."Rae-"

Suddenly she raised her hands heavenward and a loud clap of thunder echoed in the sky. The square darkened as she moved her wrists in a strange, intricate pattern...she shifted, moving her feet as if performing a dance ritual.

Her hands dropped suddenly and a shout echoed across the square as torrential rain began to descend from the heavens. Richard could only gape in wonder as the slender teenager reopened her eyes and swayed on unsteady footing. Behind her the courthouse flames quickly dissipated...the fire was extinguished.

Richard blinked against the heavy rain and took a hesitant step forward, three words swirling around in his head and occupying his thoughts.

_Raven had magic..._

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**Hope you like it!**

**~heartless16**


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